The Meaning of Duty & Honor
by PinkGloom
Summary: Fantasy AU. John is a knight who lost his entire family to the mage uprising 20 yrs ago. Sherlock is a mage, who the king has requested John deliver to the waring east. Throughout their journey, John realizes that not all mages are to be despised and Sherlock battles with his ability to trust, having spent most of his life as a hated prisoner of the king. Smut & Epic battles!
1. Mission 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. However, the universe this is set in is my own creation.

A/N: This is an AU middle ages magic and knight story filled with battles and shameless man-smut. I hope you will enjoy.

"He's the best man for the job."

_Specifics. _

"His village was devastated by them before the council was able to intervene. There is no fear that he would compromise the mission by forming any relationship with the mage."

_Will he be able to accomplish the mission solo? He cannot request assistance of any kind._

"His performance record is flawless. He is skilled in not only the broad sword and bow, but also a vast array of other single hand weapons. He is the best man that we have to offer."

_Family? Wife? Children? _

"No, he is alone. No one will ask any questions."

_Then you will send an order informing him that his presence is demanded at the castle tomorrow afternoon. _

"As you wish, Your Majesty."


	2. Mission 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing-ish.

A/N: Now it's time to get down to the meat of the story.

PS: I find Finntroll amazing to listen to while reading this.

John Watson stared up at the castle. He shielded his eyes from the bright afternoon sun. Upon receiving the orders the night before, he had been able to think of little else and so the sight of the castle brought his apprehension again to the forefront of his mind. While it was true that he had been on missions before that had been ordered by the king, he had never gone solo or received his orders from the King in person.

After showing his credentials to the castle guards, John made his way through the main courtyard. It was a flurry of activity and John found his eyes wandering to the men and women working in the castle. There were ladies making there way to the outer gates and when John caught one of their stares, she began to giggle. He gave her a slight nod of his head, and returned his gaze to straight ahead.

Gripping the hilt of his sword, a warm calm spread from his hand to the rest of his body. The broad sword had been the only possession that the mages had neither destroyed or stole. He didn't even know what his own family crest had looked like and it still filled him with rage every time he thought of his shield, which was lacking any markings on it. If he could not have a true family crest than he would have none at all. The attack on his village had been over twenty years ago but John still felt the pain acutely.

John reached the interior gates of the castle. "I am here at the request of his Majesty." John produced the message that had been sent to him the night before. The guard offered him a single nod. With military precision, the guard turned and signaled for John to follow him.

The knight tightened his grip on his hilt. His knuckles, were turning white from the pressure. John kept his gaze ahead despite the temptation to allow it to wander over the elegant tapestries lining the massive hall. The sun was blazingly bright outside but inside the rays of the sun were only able to filter into the castle from small, high placed windows and so candles were lit all in chandeliers overhead. The interior of the castle was more dreary than John had romanticized it to be. There was a slight mouldy smell emanating from the walls and there was a dampness that he had not felt outside.

Without realizing, John found himself facing the carved oak doors to the main chambers of the King. John straightened his back as he heard the trumpets blow and his name announced. John walked in proudly behind the guard. _This is it. I have finally had it to the King. Father. Mother. My dear sister. I will make you proud to call me son and brother. _John's face was a controlled mask, letting none of his inner turmoil show through.

The knight walked until he was a few feet before the throne and got onto one knee and bowed his head low. "Your Majesty." He brought his head up but avoided any eye contact with the King. The King was dressed in colorful silks and John could see the sparkling of rings on his fingers. Here was an outline of fur and gold thread embroidered intricate designs all over his gown.

The King acknowledged John with a wave of his hand. He eyed the kneeling knight before him for a few moments, slightly moving his scepter from right to left in his hand. "Yes, I imagine that you will suit my purpose." The King's voice was flat and he spoke with no hesitation. It was a voice of a man who was accustomed to always getting what he wanted. With a minute tilt of the King's head, two guards left the chambers.

"Knight John Watson. You are to follow my orders explicitly."

John nodded his head in compliance.

"You are to take the mage known as Sherlock Holmes to the main castle in the east known as Wulworth. Sherlock Holmes is to be delivered alive, to the men waiting there. You have no longer than sixty days. The mage has had both wrist and neck restrains placed on him so he has be neither able to recite spells nor sign them. These precautions will not be removed for any occasion. What I ask of you is of the severest secrecy and you must inform no one of your mission even after its completion."

The king stopped talking as the two guards reentered the room along with another man held between them. John turned his head to the right to face the man he was to escort through the wilderness. He fought to quell the rage that threatened to overtake him when he caught sight of the mage.

The mage was a tall slender man. His skin was sickly white and his dark ebony curls only framed the whiteness to a startling degree. He had tall sharp cheekbones and his lips were a small pink bow. However, staining his delicate features, were lifeless eyes and his lips were cracked and set in a grim line of pain and determination. The thought flickered over John's mind that maybe the mage had been tortured.

After the mage uprising over twenty-five years ago, it was not uncommon for mages to be imprisoned. However, with a war brewing in the east, many mages were being sent to the front lines to defend a kingdom that enslaved them. John offered them no pity because of murder they have brought upon his village, but in his heart John knew that it was wrong to punish mages who had not even been old enough to participate in the war. Still, that didn't mean that he offered his hand in friendship to any of them or treated them as equals. He just knew, as a human being, that the senseless torture of others was an injustice.

The mage named Sherlock Holmes bowed his head and a curtain of black curls blocked his face from view. John caught sight of the golden shackles encircling both of his wrists. There were an elegant patterns sketched on them. John knew the markings were not there for show, but instead acted as a barrier to contain all the magic of its wearer. Still they were beautiful, etched with old runes between the swirls.

"You will leave the castle tonight under the cover of darkness. You are not to engage with any communication with the mage. Complete this task and you will rewarded with a family crest once again. Do I understand?

"Yes, your Majesty."

* * *

_So this is to be it? My great mission, escorting a filthy mage to the east to fight in a senseless war. _John bit at his tongue. It was a crushing disappointment but he would carry out his mission. Mixing in with the disappointment, John could feel his chest swelling with the thought of no longer being 'the crestless knight'. John Watson had never questioned any orders in his long service to the crown and he wasn't going to begin now.

He paced in small circles. He had been offered a room in the castle until his departure. The knight had made sure to eat his fill at dinner, knowing it was to be his last full meal in the coming months. Now the food weighted heavy in his stomach as his mind raced over what he had to do.

Despite John's best to avoid all court gossip, he had not been able to help himself when he had heard the mage's name mentioned. Apparently, the mage had been held prisoner at the castle for longer than fifteen years. He had been kept locked up in the dungeons under the guise of protection, but everyone knew the truth. The king loathed mages and was friend to none of their kind.

The throat and wrist guards had been placed on him since almost his first day at the castle. Many wondered if he could still talk. While others whispered that he had been secretly trained and was the deadliest weapon that the king had possession of in the kingdom. John tried to fight against it but he soon found that he was curious to know the mage's true history.

_The king need not fear me becoming on friendly terms with that mage or any of them. _Even though he knew the mage's name, John refused to call him as such. _He is not a man. Only a package that I have been requested to deliver. _John swallowed and the action was thick in his throat. Sickening anger almost boiled over again and John punched the wall to sooth his pain. His knuckles were bloody from repeating the action but he patched them up calmly with the medical kit that he always kept on his person.

John heard a soft knock on the door. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door to the guards that he knew would be waiting at the other side of it. He nodded to the men and followed them through the narrow corridors to the back courtyard. John was given a pack of provisions and a horn of water. There were three guards and the mage waiting for him. The guards wished him luck on his journey and handed him the proper documentation needed for his entry into Wulworth Castle.

Lastly, a guard handed John the chain that connected to the two golden wrist guards on the mage. The chain's weight was unpleasant and John found that he could not face the tattered man. Instead he said his quick farewells and they made their way to the dark thick forest that bordered the backside of the castle. John paid no attention to the man behind him. He forced his mind to treat the chain in his left hand as if it were a reign. In his mind, he was only leading a horse and not another human being.

The night was moonless and chilly. It would nearly be winter by the time they reached the eastern castle and they could afford no setbacks or detours. John had grown up in the east and he knew the many paths that could be taken there. Usually he went on horseback but this time they were being forced to avoid the main roads and so they had to walk the vast distance.

John swatted branches away. The mage could not grunt as they flung back in his face but John heard the swatting noise against his skin. After the third one, John began to felt guilt pool in his gut and after that he softly released the branches so that they would not sting the mages face. The only sound that broke the silence of the night was the sounds of them making their way through the dense trees and the hoots of the occasional owl.

John still kept on his guard for any sounds of someone tracking them; whether it be beast or man. He was less worried about an attack from the men of the north and more about ogres or wolves. It was true that the numbers were in their favor but John wanted to take no chances. This was his time to prove to not only the king but also the whole kingdom what a Watson was capable of accomplishing. That he, as a knight, would bring honor back to his family.

As they made their way through the forest, the mage tripped on a root and fell hard to the ground. The chain jerked John back and he almost lost his footing. He didn't turn around and instead yanked hard on the chain, bringing the other man back to to his knees. John was shocked to feel now light the mage was, even though he was almost a head taller than him. John's mind flashed to the rumors of torture and John shook his head to clear it. The knight turned head to look over his shoulder.

The mage gracefully got up from his knees. John was struck by the fluidity of the action. If he didn't have his hands chained together than there would have been no question on the man's gracefulness. John caught a quick glimpse of the man's face. It was still set in a blank expression. John's eyes fell to the golden collar around his long neck. If it had not been placed there to silence him, it would have been a thing of beauty.

It held tightly around his neck and John saw anger red marks on the areas that bit into his skin. It was obviously rubbing his neck raw and John dreaded to think what his skin looked like under the golden binding. With a frown, John directed his focus back to the path that lay ahead of them.

When the first lights of dawn began to filter through the forest, John decided it was time to rest. He found a small cave and they made their way to the inside of it. Finding that their were no wolves or bears, John put down his pack. John realized with a shock that he would have to tie the mage up if didn't want to lose sleep at the thought of him trying to escape. He couldn't leave him outside the cave, so John undid his belt and tied it around the other man's ankles. That accomplished, he undid the fastening that linked the two wrist guards together and refastened them so that the mage's hands were behind his back.

John pushed the man to the ground and he collapsed in a heap. John shoved some bread roughly into the mage's mouth and ate the rest himself. He eyed the man suspiciously and spoke his first words to him. "Try and escape and I will break your arm. The king said to deliver you alive, he spoke nothing of injury."

With the threat lingering in the air, John rested his head against the wall of the cave, praying for a few hours rest.


	3. Mission 3

Disclaimer:

A/N: Please review!

P.S: Bells! I was so happy to see you were reading this story too! I'm all warm and fuzzy!

Beta: Carson

It had been a week since the beginning of their journey and John was sure of only one thing- that he was slowly losing his mind. The silence between him and the mage was starting to grate away at him like he had never thought possible. After a few days, John had begun to whistle. Realizing he must sound ridiculous he stopped. Then he had started to talk to himself, which was even worse.

It wasn't just that the mage couldn't talk but that he could make no noise whatsoever. Even a mute could laugh, grunt, make some sort of noise or communication. The complete silence from the mage made John forget his presence and the knight hated the feeling of isolation.

The mage had refused to look him in the eye and avoided all communication with John. He didn't make any nonverbal requests for food or drink; the mage just allowed John to control his every motion. It was if all the caring was beaten out of the man. Still under the smooth surface, John sensed a strong spirit. If this mage, this man, would be allowed to talk he would be intelligent and articulate. John was sure of it.

When he didn't think John was looking, sometimes flashes of deep thought would cross over the mage's features. John was going mad with curiosity to know his thoughts. A small part of him wanted to argue with the man and demand answers to questions that he was sure the mage could not answer but he wanted to yell nonetheless.

Later that evening, John had finally had enough. He flitted his eyes between the mage and a nearby tree. John licked his lips._ I'll put the collar back on him in a few hours. No one needs to even know. If I deny it, no one in the castle would believe a filthy mage even if he said anything._ Confident in his reasoning, John stood up and walked over to the mage. He crossed his arms and looked down at the man. "I'm going to take off your collar. Don't try anything funny or I'll make sure you can't talk even with the collar off." John hated the need to threaten but he feared what the man could do to him.

John bent down and took the key out of a small pocket in his pack. Up close, John could see the raw red marks along the mage's neck with a new clarity. It sickened him. The key turned and John removed the collar, trying not to scrape it along his skin. The man knit his brows up and looked away. Instead of looking relieved, he looked as if John had placed an even worse collar on him.

John found that his patience had already been exhausted and said irritably, "Aren't you going to say something?"

The silence seemed to stretch on forever. The fire gently cracked between them and John realized that he was still crouching extremely close to the other man. John leapt up as if he had been burned. He stuffed the collar in his knapsack. John wanted to look away, but he realized that now with the collar off, he had to keep his eyes on him even more closely.

The mage licked his lips and motioned as if to talk. All that came out was a stranded croak. With a shock, John realized that the other man needed a drink. He removed his flask and feed him the rest of the fresh water. The mage drank it down greedily and the knight shamefully admitted to himself that he hadn't been giving the other man enough water everyday.

Once he had drank his fill, the mage licked his lips making them shine with moisture. John waited for him to finally say something. The mage still looked lost for words but he finally whispered, "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Take off the collar?"

John was rooted to the spot as green grayish eyes turned to pierce his. It was the first time that the mage had looked at him full in the eyes and his gaze was captivating. John feared for a moment that he was already having magic worked on him and then he chastised himself for the ridiculous thought. John opened his mouth but he found that the words were thick in his throat.

"You heard me. I've been going crazy with no one to talk too." Admitting to his weakness, John turned away. "I really don't know why if you must know. I just felt...compelled too."

It wasn't that the mage's eyes softened, but some of the bitterness that had been lining them vanished under the weight of John's words. Then as quickly as they had brightened they took on a new darkness. "I have nothing to say to you."

Suddenly, John was struck about a whole other aspect of the other man. His voice. His true voice, after the roughness had been washed away, was smooth and it rumbled deeply. The knight suddenly had to hear more of it. It was a voice that demanded attention and John couldn't believe that he had waited so long to hear the sounds that came out of the other man. John licked his lips.

"Nothing? After all this time with that collar on? You now have the chance to speak and you're refusing too?"

As if to prove his point, the mage only nodded his head. John bit back a rude remark and instead settled for a glare. The silence stretched on but it was more comfortable now, even with the stranded anger lining it. John knew that his comfort with the silence was from the knowledge that the other man could talk if he wanted too. He finished his dinner and instead of shoving it in the other man's face, John asked him if he wanted any.

"Oh, now you ask if I'm hungry."

John felt a blush of shame cover his cheeks. "I'll take that as a 'no' then." He plopped the rest of the food in his mouth and chewed on it with only a slight bit of satisfaction.

The mage grunted. "I don't know why you bothered to take of the collar if you're not even going to listen to me."

John rolled his eyes and fished out another roll from the pack. He walked over to the other man and tore off a bit of it. He held it in front of the mage and raised his eyebrows in question. With a dramatic sigh, he moved forward and took the bread from John's fingers with his mouth. The knight moved his hand back, careful to avoid all contact.

"Better?"

The mage looked wary. "I suppose."

John rolled his eyes and broke off another part of the roll. "I'm beginning to think that they kept that collar on you just to shut you up, as opposed to their fear of your magical capabilities."

Instead of taking the bait, Sherlock said after swallowing another bit of food. "I don't even know your name."

Some of the anger that had been pushed aside from John's curiosity bubbled to the surface again. "It's none of your damn business. But if you must know, my name is John Watson. Your kind murdered my family." John bit back the childish words he wanted to yell, _I hate you! I hate all of you!_

The mage's eyes narrowed. "You're not the only one who lost a family."

John turned away. That would explain why the mage had been at the King's court for so long. After the mages had committed mass murders, the King's guards had committed their own. After the collars and wrist guards had been invented, it had only been a matter of time before many of the mages had been captured and slaughtered just like the villagers they had killed.

John had never thought for one moment that the man before him would also be an orphan from the same war. Still, he had been holding onto his anger for so long, it was not something he could get over in the span of an evening. "I still can't forgive you...or what your parents did."

With surprising force, the mage lurched forward. "Don't you _dare_ call my parents murders! They died defending scum like you from the others! And what happened? In the end, it didn't matter! They were murdered by the ones they had protected! Your kind are ruled only by fear! You disgust me!" He shouted as he fought against his wrist shackles. He let out a yell of frustration that echoed through the night air.

John was so astonished by the outburst that he looked on in silence. His brain tried to wrap itself around the mage's words. Could he trust him? It could all be lies...but he knew that some of it was true; yes, this man was telling him the truth. The uprising had left orphans on both sides.

"I...I don't know what to say."

"There is nothing to say. Now, deliver me to my other masters and leave me be."

John could hear the bitterness in the mage's voice. The King's words echoed through John's head. _Do not talk to the man. No communication. Follow my orders explicitly. _Was this why the King had commanded him to not take off the collar? John searched for the right words to say but there were none that seemed to fit the mood. He wasn't going to apologize for the murder of his parents, not when his own parents had been slaughtered.

John stared into the fire. It was small and he knew he would have to extinguish it soon. The light from it warmed his skin and smoke burned his eyes. John tried to focus on those sensations instead of the thoughts running through his mind. He stole a look at the mage and felt a pang. Although John had been orphaned he had still lived a fairly regular life with a foster family. The mage, the man across from him- Sherlock Holmes. He had not only lost his family but then he had been locked up in a dungeon subjected to horrors that made John squirm with shame.

Maybe he didn't have to forgive all the mages...but maybe, maybe.

_Maybe I c__an forgive this one._

It was a war that their parents had fought. Holmes had only been a child at the time, no more than ten when it had taken place. Then he had been imprisoned for crimes that his parents had committed..._No, not even his parents according to him._

John felt sickened at the way he had treated the other man. Shoving food down his throat, forcing him to sleep on hard rocks and depriving him of water. What kind of man was he acting like? What kind of knight acted in that manner? He was no better than the men who had kept Holmes prisoner for all those years.

John stood up and kicked out the small fire. Embers flew in the air and some fell onto Holmes' hair and shoulders. John's body moved on his own accord as it wiped the hot embers away. "I won't apologize for how you've been treated by others," John paused for a moment, finding the words hard to say. "But I will apologize for my own actions. I have treated you with no honor and for that I ask for your forgiveness."

Sherlock looked up at him through his eyelashes. John swallowed hard. A crescent moon offered a dim light and John could only see the outlines of the mage's face. His cheekbones jutted out and John was reminded of the first time he had seen Holmes. How compelling the man had seemed even then.

"I accept your apology with gratitude." Holmes' words were spoken with conviction and John knew that he had truly been forgiven.

With the weight of his guilt lifted off his shoulders, a wave of sleepiness crashed over him. "I can trust you, can't I?" John knew it was really against his better judgment but he wanted to trust the mage now that they had come to some sort of understanding.

"I won't try to escape if that is what you are asking."

"Just remember, that if you do, I will be forced to use physical measures."

Sherlock frowned. "I know. You remind me daily."


	4. Mission 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing-ish.

A/N: Thanks for the comments king! Makes me so happy to see you reading another one of my stories 3

P.S: Writing this while waiting for my other story 'Of Scales & Flesh' to be beta-ed.

Beta: Carson

As the days progressed, John found that he was constantly surprised by the man beside him. Once Holmes had gotten more comfortable around John, the knight found that the mage was a wealth of not only information but also that he was able to observe the forest in no way John had ever seen before. Naturally, John had traveled with tracers and hunters before, but he had never seen a man be right as often as Holmes was when guessing the movements of animals and understanding other aspects of the woods.

John could hardly believe that the mage, who had been isolated for so long, knew as much as he did of the outside world. John questioned in astonishment "Did you really spend 15 years in a dungeon?" As soon as Holmes finished another unbelievable deduction about where to find a herd of deer. John instantly regretted his words, as the small light that had begun to brighten Holmes' eyes turned dark.

John tripped over his apology. "I didn't mean for it to sound that way!" The words came out in a rush. "I mean, your guesses are just fantastic! I've never see anyone be so accurate, especially after having not _been _in a forest for over a decade."

Holmes' didn't smile but the hard line that had formed between his brow disappeared. "I suppose you have a point...and I never guess. I observe." They hadn't exchanged words for the rest of the evening. Holmes' words played in John's mind, _I never guess. _The knight wondered if Holmes' reasoning skills had to do with his abilities as a mage.

After a few more days, John released the chain he had been leading Holmes by, its weight having gotten too heavy for him to hold. Still, the wrist restrains were held together with a clasp and John had no intentions of giving Holmes the mobility of his hands. The wrist restrains did slow down how much ground they could cover each day, because Holmes was constantly losing his footing or was unable to scale steep slops on his own. Their progression through the wilderness was slow but it was steady.

John noticed that whenever their conversation would linger towards unpleasant topics or more useless chatter than actual content, Holmes would stop talking. At first, John had been irritated by the action but then he realized, that while the mage liked to talk, he preferred to talk only when the topic suited him. Eventually, John accepted that part of Holmes' personality and they shared long stretched of the day in comfortable silence.

As another week passed, a thought popped into John's head that refused to leave. _What kind of fate am I leading Holmes too? The King kept him locked up...will he be sacrificed in the war? Used as a shield for the east's army? _He had dismissed the thought at first, but now it nudged at him during their long periods of silence.

John turned to face Holmes. The morning sun was softened by clouds covering the sky. They were in a deep part of the woods and John was struck by the beauty of his surroundings and the man beside him. With exposer to the sun, the sickly white that had been Holmes' skin was now a slightly healthier shade. He wasn't as dark as John, but the knight had a feeling that the mage didn't tan.

Dark curls laid lazily around Holmes' slightly pointed eyes. Holmes had all the identifying marks of a mage; slightly pointed ears, grayish green eyes and porcelain skin. Despite the fact that he had been treated like a prisoner, he had been dressed like a prince when John had taken him from the castle.

The garments on Holmes looked like silk but they hadn't torn from the sharp branches in the thick forest, so he knew it was made of tougher material. His outfit was made up of different shades of sapphire and gold outlined his sleeves and the collar of his shirt. Normally, mages would have been dressed in long robes but because of mobility, Holmes' was wearing thick black trousers. His hair was held back with a leather tie but curls still resisted being held captive.

John stopped his introspective wanderings when he spotted a small branch in Holmes' hair. John quickly reached up to lift the twig out of the other man's hair. At the sudden movement, Holmes flinched his head back and shut his eyes tight. John was confused by the action, until he dawned on him that the mage thought he was going to _hit _him. Something cracked in John's chest and a tenderness filled its gaps. John muttered, "There's a twig in your hair." He slowly lifted his hand up and took the offending piece of bark out of his hair. Holmes opened his eyes but refused to met John's face. "Thank you."

* * *

As they made camp for the night, John went in search for a source of fresh water. The first time he had left Holmes alone he had done it without even thinking about it. When he had realized when he had done, John had ran back to the small clearing only to find Holmes waiting patiently in front of the fire that John had built. After that, there seemed to be an understanding between them that Holmes wasn't going to try and flee.

To his delight, John found a small pool of deep clear water. There was a small waterfall cascading into it and the soft sound made his smile. Filling his flask, John pondered taking a dip in the cool water. Although it wasn't common to bathe, John had found that when he did, it was always a relaxing experience. John made his way back to Holmes, determined to give the man a chance to clean not only his neck but also his body.

Holmes was pleased with the proposition except there was a hesitance in his movements to stand up and follow John. The mage was silent as they made their way to the small pool. John took the small key out of his pocket. "I'm only unlocking them so you can take off your shirt. Sit completely still." Holmes sat still as a statue as John unlocked the clasp between the two wrist guards.

The lock clicked open and John allowed Holmes to stretch his arms, his first real mobility in at least two weeks. Holmes began to take of his shirts and John moved to do the same. The layers pealed off and John released a pleased sigh as the crisp air hit his chest. John's gaze traveled back to Holmes. Before he could stop it a shocked gasp escaped John's lips.

There were so many scars. Faded white ones, angry red ones and bruises along his rib cage that were a faint green color. They covered the expanse of his chest and arms. John could tell that the skin not scared was beautiful and clear...but there were so many scars.

"My god...what did they _do _to you?" John clenched his arms at his side, fighting back the urge to run his fingertips over the scars in wonder and horror.

Holmes frowned. His hands had stilled and he went to recover his upper body again with his shirt. John quickly yelled out "Don't!" John could feel his fingernails digging into the skin of his palm. "I won't ask anything. Just please, its all right." John turned away and continued to take off his own clothes. The knight didn't turn around until he heard Holmes slipping into the water.

John slowly dipped his feet in. Soon the water encompasses his thighs and then up to his chest. The water felt fantastic against his sore muscles and the knight sighed in contentment. Holmes was staring blankly at the water, lost in thought. John licked his lips to say something but found that he couldn't find the right words.

_Do I ask about how he was tortured? Do I tell him he deserved it? _John now knew that Holmes had not deserved the harsh treatment that had been visited upon him. _I can't apologize for another man's sins and Holmes has already forgiven me for mine. _After his initial apology, John had treated the mage with respect and fought the urge to either hurt or belittle him.

John played his fingertips along the water's surface. It was a spring and the water was cooler the deeper he went in. The water gushing up from the underground soothed John's tired feet. Holmes dipped his head under the surface and began to scrub at his hair. His raven curls had straightened and hung limply around his shoulders. With a blush, John averted his eyes.

Holmes was truly like no man John had ever seen before. He had seen plenty of naked man, he was a knight after all, but he had never seen such a feminine outline on a male before. Despite the fact that Holmes was incredibly slender, there was still an underlining strength to his shoulders and the muscles in his chest. The man before John kept surprising him. First it had been his voice, then his abilities at observation; a man who was gifted with not only a deep consciousness but a finely sculptured body as well. John dipped his head under the water to try and clear it.

When John surfaced, Holmes had turned back to face him. Holmes opened his mouth but hesitated. Quietly, he explained to John. "It is true. I had been kept under the watchful eye of the king for the greater part of 15 years. I was tortured. I was also educated. I was trained. I did everything that was demanded of me." Holmes stopped as his voice wavered on the last couple words. "I will continue to do what is ordered of me. We all have our duties to fulfill, don't we?"

John's eyes searched the gray depths of the man before him. "We do." The sound of the waterfall reminded John that it was only him and the mage, in the stillness of the thick forest. If he chose to say something about the crown, it would stay between them. "We do, we have our duties but what they did to you was wrong. What they _are _doing to you is wrong. No matter what your linage is, no one should ever be treated the way you've been."

"Do you really mean that? After what happened to your village? Your family?"

John knew that Holmes wasn't trying to taunt him. The man wanted an honest answer. Could John really mean the words of truce that he had just spoken? It didn't take long for John to know his answer. "Yes, I mean it. What they've done to you is unforgivable." John's heart clenched as he wondered how many others had been treated like Sherlock Holmes had been...and how he was going to be once they reached Wulworth Castle.

"John Watson, you keep surprising me."

John let out a nervous laugh. "You're rather a mystery too."

Holmes offered him a small smile. It tugged at his lips, as if the mage had forgotten how to show any expression other than blankness. John found that an even bigger smile was plastered in answer on his face. They continued to bathe for a few more minutes, and John made his way out of the water. He laid out on the warm grass and stretched out his arms and legs- his mind blissfully a thousand miles away.

John opened his eyes when he felt movement. Holmes was sitting up beside him. John looked up to see droplets of water falling from Holmes' hair. The water traced paths along the mage's smooth skin. John's stomach leaped as he thought of what it might taste like- to lick the water off of Holmes' skin. John nibbled his lower lip as his eyes began to linger on the sharp angles- tantalizing thoughts fought in John for his attention. Shame won out and John turned his head to the other side. Thankfully, John's body was still too cold from the water to give away his interest in the man beside him.

John focused on the sound of the water crashing down into the small pool. His muscles loosened and John let out a deep sigh. The sunlight warmed his skin, and he tried to not think of all the conflicting ideas that were now battling for dominance in his head. One thought finally won out. "I never locked the clasp back in place."

Holmes' voice rumbled near him. "I know."

"Why aren't you trying to escape? I'm certainly leading you to your death or at least imprisonment."

"What would happen if I escaped?"

John contemplated the question before answering. "I assume I would be hunted and killed for disobeying a direct order from the king."

"Then I believe you already have your answer."


	5. Mission 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing-ish.

A/N: I am on fire! No really...does anyone have a bucket of water?

Beta: Carson

John found it more and more difficult to keep his eyes off of Holmes. It wasn't because he feared the man would escape- it was because the more time passed, the true-self that Holmes had been hiding for so many years was beginning to peek out of its shell more frequently. Most of the time he was an ass and John fought the urge to smack him on the shoulder, but John knew Holmes won't understand the friendly gesture so he restrained himself.

Soon it wasn't the playful touches that he was fighting to withhold but also a desire to comb his fingers through Holmes midnight curls. John was horrified at his lustful thoughts and he wondered how long it would take Holmes to figure out what his mind had been preoccupied with as of late. John feared that Holmes already knew but kept quiet out of either disgust or fear.

It was obvious that Holmes had been beaten and John couldn't help but contemplate if sometimes the beating had included sexual acts. No amount of cruelty was beyond some men and John still remembered how Holmes had flinched at his innocent motion to remove a branch from his hair.

John secretly wished to reach the east as soon as possible and rid himself of this man who was making him question everything he had ever been or held true. John's loyalty, his desire for revenge, his hatred; it all seemed like a mask he had been hiding behind. John had lived believing only he had ever been wronged, when it was now obvious that there were others who had suffered and in some cases even more than him. The proof was standing right beside him.

After their dip in the small spring, John had kept Holmes' wrist restrains unlocked. It made the journey easier and Holmes treated him with an attitude bordering on friendship. John still guarded himself, unsure of where their relationship could go if he allowed it to evolve from prisoner and guard.

They were in the thick of the forest again and there was little light filtering in through the thick vines that covered the tall trees. "The forests between the Kingdom are really breathtaking. I've never been this way, even though I've travelled between the east and south many times. I've always traveled the main roads with other knights..." John knew he was talking nonsense and so he allowed his thoughts to pitter out.

"I remember hiding in these woods. They really haven't changed."

"It must be painful for you...they found me in the shattered remains of my house. I was taken straight to an orphanage with the other few children who had survived." John grimaced at the painful memory. His hand sought the comfort of his sword hilt. Holmes didn't offer a reply, which didn't surprise the knight. Minutes passed before Holmes continued.

"We were forced into hiding then they found us. They killed all the adults and most of the children. I still wonder why they kept me alive. I sometimes wonder what it would be like if I had been killed instead of my parents." Holmes' voice was a mask of composer but John knew better. He had fought his hardest against it but John's hand reached out and grasped Holmes' shoulder before he could stop himself.

After a small squeeze, John quickly removed his hand from Holmes. "I never stopped to think about the others. I suppose, if anyone's to blame it's the aristocracy who tried to take control of everyone and everything." It had been easier to blame the mages, they were a threat that the Kingdom had been united to fight. _I really have been using my whole life to fight against the wrong enemy. Is this why they've kept all the mages locked up? So that we would never know who we should have been fighting against?_

Holmes stopped and threw his left arm up in front of John. The knight took the signal and stopped in his traces. "Ogres. Close by." Holmes turned to John with urgency. "You need to take off my wrist restraints. I can help you."

John hesitated. He didn't see any of the usual signs of an ogre camp nearby. Before John could tell Holmes no, a yell erupted through the woods. John quickly took his sword out of his scabbard and took a defensive stance. "Holmes, behind me!"

The mage ducked behind the knight right as two ogres crashed through the trees. John had never fought an ogre alone, let alone two. "Sherlock, run!"

Holmes stubbornly held his ground. "I'm not leaving you!" A bright light emanated around Holmes' head, forming a halo. John and the ogres watched in stunned silence as Holmes released a jet of energy at one of them. The monster erupted into a pillar of light and Holmes collapsed.

"Sherlock!" John knew he had no time to check on the mage. He roared as he ran at the ogre. John lifted the sword and cut into the ogres thick flesh. It yelled out in pain and swapped at the knight. John darted out of the way and went in for another jab. This time he caught the taller creature in the side and warm blood began to gush out of the wound. The ogre's scream was laced with fear.

John went in for the final hit. As he raised his sword high, the ogre swatted at him once again. John was unable to dodge it. He felt claws piercing into his stomach and he was flung like a rag doll through the air. John struggled to his feet again. He could feel warmth spreading out onto his chainmail and the material of his shirt. The ogre lunged forward and delivered another blow, knocking John off his feet. Taking another swing with his sword, John was able to slash off the ogres right arm at the elbow. It was the last thing John saw as he went rolling down into a small ravine below.

* * *

When John finally opened his eyes, every part of him was sore. He groaned in pain and he gripped at his stomach. The knight was amazed that he hadn't bleed out. As it was, he was incredibly weak. _Sherlock! _The mage had been left alone up there with the angered monster. John was still reeling at the impressive show of power Sherlock had showed when he had released the spell. _How did he preform magic? _A sharp pain in his abdomen reminded John of more urgent matters.

John screwed his eyes up tight and focused all of his remaining energy into his hands. His palms began to feel warm and John sighed in relief- he was still strong enough to work the spell. John thrust both hands down onto his stomach and let out a yell of pain. Energy seeped out of John's palms, fusing with his skin and internal organs sowed back together. John could feel every movement, as his veins, organs and muscles readjusted and healed themselves.

He let out one final grunt as the energy ran its course. John was breathing heavily and a sweat had sprung up on his forehead. Normally if John had to perform any healing he would take a nap to replenish his drained energy. This time he could take no such leisure. Every muscle in his body protested as John used his sword as a crutch to stand up. His body was screaming in pain, but his mind was chanting the name of Sherlock over and over, and that was what won out.

John clawed his way back up the hill. The area was deserted and John silently thanked God that he hadn't discover Sherlock's bloodied lifeless body. Then anger filled him, anger with the ogres for the unprompted attack and anger at his inability to protect the mage.

Even though he now questioned the reason, the King had charged John with the protection of Sherlock Holmes, he still had an _order _to safeguard the mage until they reached the east and John had failed. At the first attack, he had allowed for Sherlock to be taken captive. _Well, not for long. _His tracking skills weren't as exact as the mage's but he was still able to discover the direction Holmes and the ogre had taken.

* * *

Hours later, John was hiding behind a tree. After finding the camp of the remaining two ogres, he had used the cover of darkness to mask his presence. The ogre that he had its arm mostly cut off was moaning in pain. The other ogre was content to ignore its cries. Sherlock was in a pile on the ground. He was still unconscious but John could make out the slight rise and fall of his chest that confirmed Sherlock wasn't dead. John sent out a silent prayer of thanks.

John knew it was best to attack only after night had fallen completely. So he waited patiently for the next few hours to pass. He used the time to formulate a plan but nothing seemed to work. It was important that both of them escaped alive and every plan he came up with ended with either him or Sherlock injured or worse.

John buried his head in his hands and despite his best intentions to stay awake he still drifted off. He awoke with a start at the sound of something being hit. For a gut wrenching second, John thought that the ogre had killed Sherlock. The forest was startling quiet. _He killed his companion. The ogre I injured earlier. _John was sure it had been a mortal wound but he doubted that the other ogre had bludgeoned his 'friend' out of compassion. The knight scrambled quietly from tree to tree making his way to Sherlock in the dark. The mage had still not awaken and John was beginning to worry that Sherlock was seriously injured or had a concussion.

The last ogre went back to tending the fire now that it had silenced the other one. Finally John reached Sherlock. The nearest tree was still too far away for John to extend an arm out to grab for him. John silently prayed that Sherlock would wake up. The ogre stopped tending the fire and John knew that his time was running short. _God, I wish I would have brought my bow with me. _He wasn't the best marksmen but he could have gotten a clean shot at such a short distance.

The ideal situation wasn't going to present itself, so John extended his arms out as far as they would go and reached for Sherlock's ankles. Once he had a firm grip, he began to drag the man back to the darkness of the woods. Unfortunately, that was when the ogre chose to check up on his dinner.

The ogre let out a roar. John swore.

He unsheathed his sword and leaped over Sherlock's prone form. With another swear, John ran head long at the ogre. There was a sickening, yet satisfying sound of steal going through flesh. The ogre tried to claw at him but John leapt away, leaving his sword imbedded in the ogre's stomach. John reached for the small knife he kept at his ankle and flung it as hard as he could at the ogre's face. It hit home with deadly accuracy.

The ogre didn't make a single sound as he crashed to the ground. John removed his sword from the fallen monster's belly. Blood oozed out of the wound. He reached for his small knife and after wiping it off on the grass, he sheathed it too. With one final glance to make sure the ogre really was dead, John ran over to Sherlock.

"Sherlock. _Sherlock!_" He slapped the man gently on the cheek. John was tempted to use his healing powers to wake him up but he knew his body couldn't take the strain. He began to shake Sherlock's shoulders. Finally Sherlock let out a soft moan. John released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and struggled to focus on the man before him.

"John...?"

The knight bit back a cry of relief. "Yes, yes. It's me. We have to hurry, there could be more of them at anytime." John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and helped him into a sitting position.

Sherlock gripped his forehead. "Everything's spinning."

"Take a moment." John allowed the secure weight of Sherlock to relieve his fears. _Safe. He's safe. _Sherlock stumbled to his feet and John held him up. The mage was only unsteady on his feet for a moment.

John whispered with urgency. "We need to leave now."

Sherlock nodded. They ran off into the woods.

* * *

John huffed in each breath, clinging to a tree. They had ran as hard as they could and only when John was sure that they weren't being followed did he signal for Sherlock to stop. The mage collapsed at the foot of a giant oak tree. As John's pulse calmed, he slid down the length of the trunk to sit next to Sherlock.

Sherlock's hand was suddenly in John's own sweaty one. John was shocked but he knew that Sherlock was looking for comfort. He held loosely onto the mage's hand and tried to send him a gentle wave of smoothing energy.

How long they stayed like that John couldn't tell. Eventually Sherlock removed his hand from John's and stood up. "We should start a fire." John felt his stomach rubble and realized that almost the entire day had been spent dealing with the ogres.

"I don't know if it's safe to light a fire tonight." John hated to admit it but he knew he was right. "We can eat the last of the food and I can go hunting tomorrow." The bread had begun to mold and the little of the salted meat that was left was as hard as a rock. Still John ate the food quickly and with a unsurprising hunger.

As Sherlock chewed on the last of his meager meal, John knew they couldn't avoid the subject any longer. "You used magic. With the wrist guards still on. You didn't say a single word, Sherlock."

Sherlock averted his eyes. "When you removed that collar, you gave me back the ability to perform spells. Not all of them or even very powerful ones but magic nonetheless."

"But you didn't chant an incantation?"

"All I had to do was mutter it. It's not the volume of the voice but the will behind the magic that makes it deadly."

Despite himself, John chuckled. "You certainly made it deadly."

"You were in danger."

John's body went stiff. What_ does he mean by that? Does he...? _John was too afraid to entertain the idea and too embarrassed to ask Sherlock outright about what he really meant.

"Why are you calling me 'Sherlock'?" The mage questioned barely above a whisper.

"I don't know. I suppose after you save someone's life that makes them a friend." John held his breath.

"Friend? I don't have friends." Sherlock bowed his head. "But I'd like to have one." When Sherlock lifted his head, the smile on his face was more relieved and happy than John had ever seen. It was all encompassing and John wasn't sure he was actually worthy to be the recipient of it.

"You can call me 'John' if you want." John dug the heel of his boot into the soft soil of the ground.

Sherlock offered him another shy smile and John gulped. If he was gorgeous when he frowned, then Sherlock Holmes was radiant when he smiled.


	6. Mission 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing-ish

A/N: This chp. is from Sherlock's POV all italicized to mark these are Sherlock's reflections during previous chps. plus back story

Beta: Carson

_He had resigned himself to his fate. Why fight it? At first, after seeing his family annihilated it was a natural reaction to feel rebellious. It was after the third beating that almost killed him that Sherlock Holmes entered into his shell. Emotions were a luxury anyway, what did he care? He hadn't cared...for more than a decade there had been no "caring"._

_Then he was told he was to take a journey to the east. To the waring east. To his death. As with everything else in his dull life, Sherlock accepted it was a "Yes, Your Majesty." The thought of being outside the castle walls gave him an odd thrill but so many years had eclipsed since he had been outside, that Sherlock had no idea what he was anticipating. Maybe because it was something _new. _He had already memorized every creak and crevice in his 'study room'._

_Obviously, he remembered the world as it _had_ been but that laid little if any meaning on what the world had _become_. The only undeniable fact was that the world was still not kind to mages. His own were still hunted and handed over to the King for a fine bounty. Some things never change._

_Maybe he had been lucky. Lucky that he hadn't needed to hide in the mountains for years waiting for the inventible. Having been locked in the castle, he had been educated, given access to books and the chance to hone his observation skills._

_He had not been given the chance to talk. The golden collar had been placed around him along with the golden bands around his wrists and that had been it. The end to his magic use. But what the guards didn't understand and what the King didn't even fully grasp was that his ability still grew._

_He trained in his mind. In the arena that he formed in his self-conscious and in the deepest depths of his mind he had practiced with an obsession. Trained everyday. Fueled by his hate and rage, Sherlock has sharpened his skills to the point where he could preform magic even with the restrains on. Even without his voice._

* * *

_Escape. That was the thought foremost in his mind as he was dragged out into the main part of the castle for the first time in over six years. Sherlock didn't cared who was taking him to the east. The only fact that he knew for certain was that his 'handler' was going to met his death the moment they entered deep into the forest. It was going to be a merciful death, more merciful than they had ever been to him._

_Then he laid eyes on the knight. The doctor. Maybe something more? Mages could sense each other. Their auras shone bright to one another and that had been one of the reasons that they had been so easy to hunt once others had been turned coat to the other side._

_John Watson was a dim light. A calming light. Light that Sherlock hadn't seen in over five years, when the last mage that had been kept in the castle had been taken away...or killed. Normally, mage auras were a light hazy that others could sense both visually and as a dull feeling in the back of their mind. A sense of presence and comfort._

_Sherlock could barely sense John's aura. It was so dim it was almost as if he was dying. After Sherlock looked him over, he was shocked to see that the knight had none of the markings of a mage. Slightly pointed eyes, translucent skin or gray greenish eyes. John Watson's eyes were a deep blue. His skin was a honey color and his ears were as circular as anyone else's._

_Still, despite the new information, Sherlock planned to kill him._

_That was until he softened the blow of the branches hitting his face. When the knight had shoved bread down his throat, Sherlock reconsidered killing the man. Then Sherlock looked past the hazy and to the man that John Watson was under all the different layers of well-placed protection isolation and hate._

_He really was an open book if one looked a little harder and his heart was exposed to anyone who passed a second glance at him. John Watson was a good man. A man who had suffered and without thought had accepted what everyone else had done or said after the war. There was a fire that burned in John Watson to do right, that fought against the poison that he had been feed his whole life. Sherlock had seen it when the knight's eyes wavered at the distressed look on Sherlock's face after he had shoved food down his throat._

_So, Sherlock decided that he would allow John Watson to live another day._

* * *

_Sherlock didn't expect any dramatic change to take over the knight; that would have been folly. Instead he looked for small glances, everyday actions that would have been unnoticeable to anyone but Sherlock. John Watson started to walk with caution on uneven ground were Sherlock would have stumbled. The knight began to feed him more gently...and Sherlock saw the mask beginning to slip._

_Sherlock waited another day._

* * *

_John Watson began to whistle and although it grated on Sherlock's nerves and broke his concentration, he knew it was a step closer to the knight breaking. Sherlock could take the all consuming silence; John Watson could not. Then he began to talk to himself. Sherlock kept his smirk hidden and went back to observing the forest. A vast majority of his information had only been in book form and Sherlock was excited to use his skills in the outside world finally surrounding him._

_When John had proposed taking off the collar it shocked Sherlock even though he knew it was the only conclusion that could be reached with the available information. John had almost been gentle and the rush of cool air on his neck had felt divine. To speak his first words in years relieved him. Sherlock had begun to wonder if his voice would even work after the years of disuse. His only assumption was because of his magical abilities but Sherlock hated 'assumptions' so he stored the quandary to be examined at a more opportune time._

_He and John shared a conversation...of sorts. It mostly contained shouting and biting resentment. However at the very end it held an apology and a promise. It was more than Sherlock had ever had before and the few simple words buried themselves deep in his heart. A heart that he had thought stopped beating long ago._

* * *

_Maybe it would have been a natural progression for anyone else but Sherlock Holmes was not prepared for the new emotions that cascaded over him as his time with John grew. It was a glorious feeling and Sherlock both sought more and feared it. Now was not the time to become intrigued with another person...no matter how tempting they were._

* * *

_Sherlock regretted dodging John's hand instantly. He had never meant to flinch away from the other man but his body and its years of abuse had betrayed itself. Sherlock hated the way he glowed inside at the angry protection that burned in John's eyes. It was clear that John not only resented his previous actions but that in addition he also loathed others who had harmed the mage. Sherlock popped the light bubble that was growing in his chest._

_When John had opened his wrist restrains, he almost shook the man senseless. Was he so reckless? Was he so blindly trusting? While it was true that Sherlock could have killed him at anytime, John didn't know that. However, when John had undo the clasp that held his wrists together combined with the collar off, it was stupid beyond all measure. Sherlock had promised to not run away but what was a promise to a man like him? A mage? A caged animal? It had angered Sherlock just as much as it had made him admire John and his unwavering faith in him._

_Many men had seen his scars. Many men had helped put them there. Sherlock had never been ashamed for anyone to see them before. Why should he? It was John's shaky declaration, demanding for Sherlock to tell him what had happened that brought him back from his musings. As always, the mage kept his face a blank but his chest shook with an unnamable force. Although Sherlock had quickly regained his train of thought, he was grateful when John allowed him to slip into the spring, no longer under the knight's prying eyes._

_The water felt fantastic. Touching his neck and soothing his wound. His body felt weightless in the water and Sherlock absorbed all the new sense information with a greedy need. Sherlock was shocked when he realized it was all because John had trusted him. Sherlock floated a little easier, feeling strangely buoyant._

_His duty. Destiny? Sherlock really didn't care. He had never cared. His life was no longer his own. What would he do with it was anyway? John was so stunned at his careless words. What did Sherlock have to live for? The words clung to Sherlock's tongue but he refused to ask the question:_ Would John allow me to live for him?

_He had seen it in the way that John's eyes traced over him that he wanted him sexually. Sherlock wasn't surprised. Despite his linage and his gangly appearance he was a desirable man. What had surprised Sherlock was when John had not acted on his desire. John made no move to touch him. No move to corner him. Guilt him into submission. Instead the knight turned his face in shame. Sherlock felt his skin spring up with goosebumps. It was interesting._

* * *

_When Sherlock offered a small insight into his plight he had suffered in the woods they were traversing through, John was caring. The knight gave a gesture of understanding with the small pressure in his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. When Sherlock saw the hand coming up to his person he had to physically stop himself from curling away. He was instantly thankful that he had. John's fingers were like fire despite the clothing separating them. It was one of the first real touches of compassion and not hate that Sherlock had in so long it made his brain screech to a halt._

* * *

_Sherlock froze in place the moment he deduced that ogres were nearby. He had been a fool not to see it sooner, too distracted by his growing confusion over John. The ogres rushed at them with little warning. Sherlock made a split decision and released his magic on the monster. He had was relieved to see its deadly force before he passed out._

* * *

_When he awoke to John gently smacking his face, it had brought consciousness flooding in. Sherlock was overcome by it. Sherlock heard John mutter his Christian name and Sherlock thrilled at it. John helped lift him up and supported him. Sherlock drank in the physical contact despite his twisting headache. The exultation of running through the woods pumped his body full of adrenaline and Sherlock let his shot through his veins until he felt like a rocket that was ready to explode._

_John finally gave the signal to stop and Sherlock collapsed onto the nearest tree. It felt solid but he needed more to anchor him to the spot. Taking John's hand had been an impulse, and impulses were not something that Sherlock usually indulged in. The touch smoothed the racing heart in Sherlock's chest. He knew that John was using what remained of his magic to calm him. Sherlock tried to send his own message of comfort to the unusual mage._

_Although John questioned him about his use of magic, Sherlock heard more interest in his voice than anger. Sherlock explained. He had read it in books and he had hoped it would work. He had been confident that it would work and it had. The knight was struck speechless when the mage professed the immense power had come from his will to save the other man. Sherlock couldn't understand why John was so shocked: facts were facts._

_Facts were turned upside down the next moment. The facts were that mages and knights were not friends. While it was true that John did have magical properties he was an anomaly and it did not bode well for Sherlock to mention it. John was offering his hand in friendship as one man to another. No labels. Just two beings making a connection._

_Sherlock cherished that connection to the same extent that he loathed it. Friendship was a heavy burden to carry and Sherlock didn't know how much more pressure his back could handle._


	7. Mission 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Back to John's POV Notes at ending. Please review!

Beta: Carson from A03

The new 'friendship' status changed minute but important interactions between Sherlock and John for the next week. However most of those changes were internal and John had no inclination to share them with Sherlock. The tension that had filled John's shoulders began to fade. The urge he had once had to grab at his sword hilt switched- to a desire to touch Sherlock. John had always touched his sword when he needed to feel anchored and somehow the insufferable man he was with had started to anchor him to reality.

John didn't like it one bit.

He knew it wasn't the type of thoughts that 'friends' should be having for one another. John did have control but a man can only be stretched so far. When Sherlock had initiated holding hands with him, after the close call with the ogres, John took it as a signal that it was acceptable to touch; with strict boundaries. John limited his physical contact with the mage, but he still indulged more than he had before. A gentle brush of fingers when handing over food. A hand on Sherlock's shoulder when John needed to steady his feet. Nothing too noticeable.

_What would we do? Where would we go? I have to deliver him to Wulworth, they're expecting us. If we didn't show..._John knew he was really in for it when thoughts of _their _future began to cross his mind with a startling frequency. _There is no 'we'. There is 'me' and there is 'him' and that is that. _John just couldn't quite convince himself.

With friendship as an excuse to change the behavior between the mage and the knight, Sherlock opened up too. Along with the permission to touch, John was granted the right to question him about his past. John didn't ask him about the torture- he felt no need to make Sherlock relive it- instead it was about how Sherlock had trained and perfected his skills despite the real world experience. John was normally stunned speechless by Sherlock's explanations.

"My training grounds are in my mind, John. I wasn't born in that castle. I utilized past data and applied it to the situations that I desired to understand an outcome. After conducting the same thought process, with different variables, I trained myself to conclude the most likely result." Sherlock told him one cloudy afternoon.

"Brilliant." John didn't even bother to keep the adoration out of his tone anymore. "All in your mind- that's incredible." Sherlock had been truly flustered when John had complimented him for the first time and John found that he loved a disconcerted Sherlock. So, Sherlock deducted and John praised.

* * *

"I believe we are near that herd of deer that you wish to obtain provisions from."

Sherlock stole a side glance at John. The knight smiled and reached for his makeshift bow. He hadn't brought one with him and instead chose to fashion one from a branch. John had been pleased with his handy work...that was until Sherlock had chastised him for all the obvious flaws.

John had sighed in exasperation and demanded that 'If you're so smart, fix it then.' Sherlock rose the challenge and John had to grudgingly admit, that with a few tweaks here and there, the bow_did _shoot better. Sherlock had beamed like a pleased school boy, after hearing John's praise and John had felt less embarrassed.

They quietly approached the deer that were grazing in a small meadow. John eyed his choices and picked a doe in the middle of clearing. He swiftly lifted his bow and focused his arrow on the target. It hit home with deadly accuracy. The other deer sprinted away when their companion fell to the ground.

John placed his bow back behind his shield and stole a glance at Sherlock. While it was true that the mage could help whittle a bow and arrow, it didn't mean that he could shot it with any semblance of accuracy. Sherlock marveled at John's skills with weapons and the knight flaunted it.

John made his way into the clearing, then he stopped with a sharp intake of breath. He caught the flint of multiple eyes in the thick forest in front of him. _Wolves. _It would figure that with winter soon approaching the wolves would resent their loss of food. John slowly began to reach for his sword, wanting no sudden movements to alert the wolves to the fact that he knew he wasn't alone.

A timber wolf pounced out of the shadows. Running headlong at John, he was easily able to impale the wolf. Somewhere behind him he heard Sherlock call his name. Two wolves followed their comrade and without warning they were engulfed in a white flame. John turned his head over his shoulder. The mage was alight with the same bright aura that John had seen when the ogres had attacked them.

Realizing that they stood no chance against their competition, the wolves turned back into the woods and retreated. "Well, I suppose we have some wolf meat too now." He turned his head back to the ash piles that had previously been two wolves. Sherlock came up to stand behind him.

"Does your magic have a 'kill' and not 'incinerate' level?" John had meant it as a joke. He hadn't expected Sherlock's eyes to turn hard.

"I've had little chance to actually use my magic." He turned his face to glare at the other man. "Don't make me into more than I am."

John knitted his brows together. "Yeah, sure. Sorry." He bent down to take the arrow out of the deer.

* * *

"Are you sure you're fine? You look a bit...off." John tried to keep the concern out of his voice but it was obvious.

As the day had progress, Sherlock, who had started of surprisingly chatty, had turned not only quiet but his face continued to get paler and paler. John tried to let him be, however after Sherlock had lost his footing more than once, John could no longer ignore the situation.

"Would it be possible for us to stop for the day?" The words gasped out of Sherlock's mouth and he swallowed hard. Sherlock rubbed at his neck.

"Yeah, sure." They really did need to continue on. However, Sherlock looked like he was going to faint at a time and John didn't want to deal with him falling down and hitting his head.

John made a fire and Sherlock rested his eyes. His breathing become labored and John decided that it was time to demand answers. "Sherlock, tell me what's wrong." John had noticed that whenever he called the mage by his Christian name that he was more likely to comply. John knew it was sneaky- he didn't care.

"I just need sleep." Sherlock's breathing was labored.

John covered the distance between them and crouched before the ill man. John placed the back of his hand on Sherlock's forehead and quickly removed it. He was as hot as a furnace. John took the mage's pulse next and discovered that it was dangerously weak.

"Sherlock. You have _got _to tell me what's wrong." John's voice was strict. He had had enough of their game. He needed straight answers.

Sherlock turned his head away. "Earlier, I found some mushrooms. They resembled the ones that I ate when I stayed in the forest before and I ate a few."

John groaned in frustration. "You stupid man! What have you done to yourself? My god, you must be poisoned." John began to reach for his medical supplies. "Tell me your symptoms."

"I feel weak. My head is spinning. My mouth feels fuzzy...I..." Sherlock looked dazed, unable to continue.

John screamed and threw his medical instrument to the ground. He finally _looked_ at Sherlock with doctoring eyes and could see the faint signs of jaundice. "You idiot! Your liver is failing! Tell me exactly what the mushroom looked like and how long ago you ate them. Be specific. You_like _details."

"They were small. A bit bigger at the top. Mostly white. Speckles of brown. I ate three. It was about ten hours..." Sherlock fumbled on the last word as he began to heave. Nothing came out but the convulsions left Sherlock shivering.

"God, Sherlock. You're dying." John bit back an angry sob.

"I am?" There was surprise in Sherlock's voice but not a hint of alarm. "Well, I didn't think this was the way I was going to go." Sherlock began to heave again.

John's hand formed a fist. He brought it up to his mouth and John bit down on knuckles with his teeth. "How can you say that?"

Of all the scenarios that John had thought of that would end their companionship, he had never considered 'mushroom poisoning'. _I haven't had enough time with him yet. He can't leave. I haven't..._John's mind was a jumbled mess. He yearned to reach his hand out to Sherlock. Still he remained motionless. Doubt ate away at John as a thought struck him. _I can heal him. He'll know I have magical powers. Should I risk it? _

John watched as Sherlock's condition began to to quickly deteriorate. He knew if he waited any longer than he won't be able to save Sherlock magic or no magic. John couldn't bring people back from the dead. With a new clarity John asked, "Can't you use your magic?" If he could heal him, surely Sherlock could heal himself.

Sherlock let out a small laugh. "It doesn't work that way." Sherlock paused for breath. "I have destructive magic, I can't heal." Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his mouth.

John's fingers touched Sherlock's hand. _He's barely got anytime left. Is it worth it? Keeping my secret to let him die? _Once John realized that if that was his ultimatum, then he finally understood what was important to him. His other hand reached out and touched Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock's eyes fluttered open.

"Don't move. Everything will be fine. I've got you." John closed his eyes and willed his power into the hand cradling Sherlock's cheek.

The healing energy in John journeyed from his core and to his outstretched hand. It scorched a path through his veins and John's palm warmed. His hand began to glow a soft blue and John bit down on his lower lip. It was dangerous to be using his magic again. He had never healed two different serious injuries in such a small time span. John just knew he couldn't watch Sherlock die if it was within his power to save him.

Sherlock's breathing evened out and his pulse pumped stronger in his veins. John's back stiffened as the poison was drawn out of Sherlock's body. John didn't take his hand away until he was sure that ever last drop was gone. Then he blacked out.  
_

John awoke to a pleasantly warm fire and an even more pleasant warmth engulfing his hand. He squeezed the hand cradling his and Sherlock cried out in surprise. John's head was in Sherlock's lap. The knight made no move to sit up.

"Are you all right?" John had never heard such concern in another person's voice before. Especially when it concerned him. A hand brushed over his cheek, cupping his chin. It was gone a moment later.

John stretched his legs and moved the fingers on the hand that Sherlock wasn't holding. After confirming that he was all there, he released a sigh. _Now the torrent of questions will come. _No one had ever figured out the powers that he possessed because his parents had clipped his ears when he had been born. They had been the only marking features of a mage on him. He had dreaded this moment for years and the knowledge that he had to share it with Sherlock filled him with another prickling fear.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock repeated. His voice wavered. His thumb was rubbing over John's hand- they were clasped together onto of his chest.

"Yeah. You?" John couldn't think of anything else to say. He just allowed his body to focus on the new position in Sherlock's lap. It was quite nice.

"Yes, you insufferable man. What were you thinking?" Sherlock's tone was exasperated.

"Me? I think I should be asking the question to the man who decided it was wise to eat mysterious flora!" John's voice filled with annoyance.

"John, a mushroom isn't flora. It's a fungi."

John let out a sound of frustration. "Fine! Fungi! It was idiotic! You could have died." John could barely keep the alarm out of his voice.

"Sorry."

Sherlock turned his head away. The fire played on his skin and John was transfixed. The wounds on Sherlock's neck had begun to fade. There were still dark pink spots where the collar had chaffed the worse. John wondered if they would ever completely fade. _I won't know him long enough to find out. _John's insides clinched.

Sherlock began to worry his upper lip with his teeth. He kept his eyes averted from the knight in his lap. John didn't know why but the hesitant way that Sherlock was acting made John wonder if he had spoken out of turn.

John applied a small pressure to Sherlock's hand and the mage moved his gaze back towards John. "I know. Just...don't do anything like that again, will you?" John quickly added, "Promise me."

Sherlock nodded. A ghost of a smile appearing on his mouth. John answered with his own lopsided one.

They sat like that, just enjoying each other company. The warmth of another human body. Finally, John could no longer control his own burning curiosity. "Aren't you going to ask how I healed you?"

Sherlock opened his eyes. "If you would like to tell me, than please do. I will not pry for information after you have just saved my life, John." He spoke the words as if it was the most obvious thought process in the world.

"I guess you're right." John muttered.

John found that he had a desire to confide in the mage. Not just a desire, a burning _need _to unburden his true self. His true history. John had never met another mage on friendly terms. Something told him, that if he was to find a sympathetic and understanding audience than Sherlock would be it.

"I was born with pointed ears. I had no other markings of a mage, so my parent's chopped off the tips of my ears the day I was born. They thought it would take the magical powers from me." John scoffed at the naivety of his parents. "No one in my family had shown any signs of being a mage before. I grew up not knowing anything until I was about six. I had been playing outside when I found a wounded bird. I placed my hands around it and cried. My hand's started to grow warm and glow. I...I held onto the bird and after the glowing stopped it flew away. I told my parents and they told me to never speak of it again."

John paused for a moment, overwhelmed by memories he hadn't thought of in years. Sherlock made no sound. Despite the lack of words, John could feel Sherlock saying, _Please continue. John. John, I won't judge you. It's all right. Everything is all right. _

"They, the mages...they came to the village with no warning. Just...the last memory I have with my family is sitting down to dinner and then the sounds of the other villagers screaming. The smell of smoke. God, Sherlock. They butchered so many innocent people. Why did it have to happen? I didn't understand then. I thought I would understand when I was older." John let out a bitter laugh.

"My powers are weak. I'm not nearly as strong as a full mage. I can only use my powers sparingly and most times after I use them, I have to sleep most of the next day. I just get so tired." John smiled. "I've never told anyone _any _of this." John had never felt so content or connected to another person before Sherlock. There was only Sherlock. "I guess it is true, 'confession is good for the soul'."

Sherlock snorted. "Go back to sleep, John." A hand played in his hair and John let out a content sigh.


	8. Mission 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing-ish

A/N: Ohhh, you're going to like this one...ratings are now! man-smut! beware!

Beta: Carson

After the scare with the mushrooms, John kept an even closer eye on the mage. Soon John admitted to himself that it was really just an excuse to look at the mage without fear of it being awkward. Sherlock was incredibly graceful, now that he seemed to have mastered his limbs and John constantly found his eyes wandering over to him. It saddened John to think that Sherlock had been confided to such a small room and this was the first time in over a decade that he had gotten the chance to use his legs; to really move his body again.

Because he wanted to keep the friendly air between them, John started to point out the small and almost invisible beauty that the forest offered. At first, Sherlock had been confused with John randomly pointing out flowers or other parts of the forest. Eventually, he stopped questioning the knight and joined in with him. While John pointed out the scenery, Sherlock pointed out the facts. It was a way to offer up a part of one another, without ask too many personal questions.

There was a rumble in the distance. Storm clouds gathered and the wind began to howl. Thunder cracked in the sky and all sunlight clouded over. Still they continued on, hunting for shelter. Unfortunately, they were unable to find any. First a few drops fell. Then a deluge released from the sky.

They continued to search for shelter. Although they were soaked by the time they found it, John finally spotted a small cave. The cold stagnant air in the cave hit John's skin and he started to shiver. It wasn't the first time he had been caught in a storm before. However, it was the first time that he had no packs with him that could provide them with warm dry clothes.

Before he gave himself the chance to think about it, John started to strip. "Sherlock, you need to get your wet clothes off." John laid out his clothes, sword and shield. He took a deep breath and turned to Sherlock.

Even though they had seen each other naked at the spring, it seemed like it had been a million years ago. John couldn't deny his sexual attraction to the other man even then and he found that, with the added intimacy of their growing friendship, Sherlock had become even more breath taking.

Although Sherlock's pale skin had become tanned in the sun, the skin hidden under his clothing was still as white as marble. The lithe muscles sculpting Sherlock's arms and legs had filled out slightly during their journey, so that he looked less starved. Sherlock was still all sharp angles, combined with a quiet powerful strength. When Sherlock shivered, John's face heated up as he realized he had been staring openly.

John gulped. "Um, we need...um, to, to lay down. So we can huddle together... for warmth." He motioned at the ground. John licked his lips and quickly retracted his tongue, hoping Sherlock hadn't taken the unconscious gesture the wrong way.

Sherlock laid down on his side and John tried to even his breathing as their skin touched. John sent a silent prayer, to all that was holy, that his body won't betray him. Sherlock was ice cold and John's nervousness evaporated. _The poor man is freezing and this is how your acting. _John narrowed his eyes and pressed his body closer.

His hand snaked around Sherlock's front and kept it as high up on the mage's chest as possible. John was tempted to wrap a leg around the taller man but then thought better of it. John's shivers subsided and he was able to bask in the heat that was starting to radiate from their joined bodies.

John closed his eyes and exhaled slowly out his nose. _I can do this. I can do this. _John chanted. He tried to focus on how hard the floor of the cave was, how his body was blocking Sherlock from the mouth of the cave and the freezing wind bit at his back- he tried to think of all the discomfort...and none of it worked.

John bit back a curse as his body began to react to Sherlock's closeness. He tried to think of every bloody battle he had been in and every gruesome wound. It just wasn't enough. John cringed as heat pooled in his lower abdomen. _His skin is just so smooth and oh god, Sherlock's ass. _John shut his eyes even tighter. When he knew without a doubt that Sherlock could feel his less than friendly intentions, John knew he had to apologize.

"Oh, god. Sherlock, I'm sorry. It's just human nature. I promise I won't try anything...Just stay like this a while longer...hypothermia..." John knew he was stumbling all over his words. John's cheeks flared up in embarrassment.

Sherlock didn't say a word- he was perfectly still. Sherlock _had _been perfectly still the whole time. Despite their awkward position, John voiced his concern. Without a word, Sherlock's hand cupped over John's hand on his chest. _God, he's disgusted with me. _John started to pull his hand away. Sherlock held onto it harder.

"Sher...?" John wasn't able to get the word out. Sherlock guided John's hand down and the knight's fingers brushed up against his matching erection. John let out a strangled cry and his fingers brushed down it. Sherlock let out a small moan and arched his body into John's touch.

John's mind fumbled over a thousand different words. However, there really weren't any words that needed to spoken. If John did open his mouth to question what they were doing then the moment would be lost and John didn't know if it could ever be lit again. So, damning the consequences, John's hand began to move on Sherlock's cock.

Even though he had rarely dared to entertain the idea, the actual act was nothing like he had come close to fantasizing. In the early hours of the morning, when Sherlock would be fast asleep and John won't be able to take his eyes off him. He could imagine Sherlock coming to him with no words exchanged, just gentle touch and caresses- that would build to an intensity that neither of them could control.

John licked his lips. They were salty and John knew he was getting his first real taste of the mage. The air was quickly warming up around them and the sound of the storm outside became white noise. John touched his lips back to the spot in between Sherlock's shoulder blades. With a surge of protectiveness, he wanted to kiss away every scar on the mage's mangled back. The knight hoped that one day he would be brave enough to do it.

Sherlock was breathing heavily and gave a deep moan. John hummed in approval. Matching the movements of his hand, John slowly ground onto the taller man's plush backside.

John flicked his hand up and brought his thumb over the tip of Sherlock. He made lazy circles and glossed through pre-cum there. Sherlock let out another moan, completely full of abandon. Sherlock's body thrust into John's fist and he knew that the man in front of him was quickly reaching his release.

That thought alone caused John's cock to twitch. He vaguely thought of touching himself but the angle was too difficult, so John continued to get his friction from Sherlock's back. A sheen of sweat had formed and John moved easily. His tongue danced on Sherlock's back, tasting the contours of the skin nearest him.

Sherlock offered no word of warning, only a bit back moan as he came all over John's hand and his own stomach. At the touch of the warm liquid on his hands, John gave a few final thrusts before reaching and tipping over the pinnacle. It crashed over him in waves and his whole body convulsed.

It was a wonderful release, not only of pent up frustration but also of John's uncertainty. It now seemed apparent that Sherlock wanted him just as badly as he had. John placed one more soft kiss on Sherlock's back, before using his hand to try and turn him over onto his back. Sherlock fought back against the motion.

John moved his hand from Sherlock's stomach and placed it on his arm. "Sherlock." He didn't know if he had meant it as a question or statement. The word hung in the air and neither man moved a muscle.

The sounds of the storm flooded back and John's ears roared as thunder rumbled across the sky. John's thumb started to make slow comforting motions like Sherlock had done for him. Sherlock still made no move to talk and panic surged into John with a sicking force.

_Is he already regretting what he did? I forced him into it! I forced him to get naked, lie down with me and then... Oh, god. What have I done? _John opened his mouth to apologize. A near inaudible sob came from Sherlock and John saw that the mage's shoulders were shaking. Dread twisted in John's gut and he sat up.

Sherlock's face was blocked by his hair. John took the hand that had been on Sherlock's arm and used it to gently push away the tangle of curls. Sherlock's eyes were squeezed tight and his mouth was twisted in pain. John didn't stay confused for long.

"I would have never done that if I thought you didn't want it. Sherlock, I'm so sorry. It'll never happen again. Please, please..."John had removed all physical contact between them and John's body screamed at the loss of comfort and heat. "I don't know what I was thinking. Please say I didn't hurt you. I couldn't live with myself..." John's voice cracked and he brought his hands up to his face; trying to contain all the shame overwhelming him.

How long the mage stayed like that John couldn't tell. Sherlock stayed perfectly still and only one more soft sob escaped his lips. John tried to get up but his limbs refused to obey him. He couldn't believe how quickly his bliss had turned to remorse.

Even though he was a bundle of nerves, exhaustion won out and John began to doze. The storm outside turned into a light shower. John shivered as the heat that had once hummed in his every vein was cooled by the night air. It was the early hours of the morning and John had only slept in small spurts. He stayed near Sherlock, with his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them; trying to steel himself against the eventual words of anger and blame from Sherlock.

Breaking the still air, Sherlock stretched out a hand and hugged it close to his chest. The mage let out a shaky sigh. "John." In there one word there were countless emotions and it woke John completely from his light sleep. John held his breath.

"John." This time the word was spoken with more urgency and tinged with fear. Without a second thought, John reached out and placed his hand on Sherlock's side. "I'm here. Shhh, I'm here." The knight didn't care if he took offense to him shushing him. John allowed his hand to linger on the laying other man.

"John." Sherlock's hand flew from his chest and grabbed onto John's. Sherlock squeezed so tight that the pressure was crushing his fingers together. John didn't complain. Sherlock let out a long shaky sigh from his nostrils. "I'll never tell anyone. You don't have to worry. Please don't..."

Although Sherlock didn't finish his request, John knew what he was trying to explain to him. _Please don't hurt me. Please don't mock me. Please don't look at me with disgust in your eyes. Please don't leave me. Please don't be like the others. _John's features twisted and he bit at the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood.

"Sherlock, if you are sure of anything in this life, then know I would never hurt you. I did before, but I didn't know you then. I...I don't want to use you- it's not your body." John flexed his jaw. Could he really tell Sherlock everything? As the mage shivered under his hand, John knew he had too.

"It's your mind and everything that makes up who you really are. Who you are- to me. Believe me, Sherlock. Believe in me and my words take what I'm saying to you to be the complete and utter truth." John knew he was rambling. Words weren't enough to convey what Sherlock needed to hear.

He applied pressure to his fingertips and they sank into Sherlock's hip. Some of the heat that he had been missing returned. Sherlock stayed silent. At least, the pain in his face had lessened. John squeezed Sherlock's side and stood up. He extended his hand to Sherlock. The mage eyed it with uncertainty. After another moment of hesitation, Sherlock took John's extended hand.

Sherlock got to his feet. Holding hands, John lead him outside the cave. It was chilly in the early morning air. Even with the cold though, Sherlock needed to clean off from earlier. John cringed when he saw the stains on Sherlock's front and back.

The lightning was only a low rumble in the distance and the rain only had a fraction of what it had before. Sherlock stared at him in confusion, wondering why John was leading him out into the rain. Although the rain was almost like ice, it still felt marvelous against John's body. The sand on John's back and side started to wash away.

Slowly, so that Sherlock could stop him at anytime, John brought his hand up to Sherlock's belly. With the hand that wasn't linked together with Sherlock, John cleaned him. It was a soft touch and Sherlock didn't shirk away from it. John's fingers once again danced on Sherlock's skin and despite the knight's effort to keep it at bay, he remembered how hot the skin had been under his fingers only hours ago.

John knew it was foolish to stand out and get wet again but he didn't want to send Sherlock out by himself. John had helped put Sherlock in a position where he needed to clean off and John would help him do so. He cleaned Sherlock until all evidence of their passion was washed away with the rain.

It wasn't that John was sad to it go, more that all it represented was washed away too. Any chance they would have had. As what?- John really didn't know. He would have played the part perfectly though; believing the lie that they won't be seeing each other again after a couple of months. John could have played it until he almost believed it to be true. That he wouldn't accept any other future unless Sherlock was in it.

John was so consumed by his own thoughts that he jumped when Sherlock's hand covered the one that remained on his stomach; forgotten in introspection. John looked up. There was barely any light in the forest, the moon covered with clouds. Sherlock's eyes were barely visible but John could feel the intensity of Sherlock's glare on him.

"I want to believe it too, John." Sherlock's hand moved to John's face. He cradled his hand and brushed his thumb over John's cheek. "You have no idea...how much I want this..." Sherlock broke off and pressed his lips to John.

Just like before, John read the last meaning of Sherlock's unvoiced words. _...I want this lie too. _


	9. Mission 9

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: I look forward to all the naughty with you...and the beautiful angst.

Beta: The amazing Carson

smut and angst. yummy.

Sherlock's lips pressed his against John's. Sherlock continued to crush his mouth to the knight as he wrapped his arms around him. John drew his arms up and thread his fingers through Sherlock's curls. He waited for Sherlock to either deepen the kiss or pull away. Sherlock's tongue darted out and pressed up against John's closed lips.

John opened his mouth against the assault. Where as the outside was cold and dark, Sherlock's mouth was warm and welcoming. John allowed Sherlock's tongue to explore and instead the knight took his ministrations to the other man's neck and hair. Once he was certain Sherlock wasn't going to pull away, John let his tongue invade Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock groaned and held onto John tighter. There was such warmth passing between them and the rain no longer chilled his skin. His whole body felt aflame with not only the touch of Sherlock's body against his but with memories of what they had done before was beginning to boil to the surface again.

Although they had already been sexual intimate, kissing sealed John's feelings for the mage. It wasn't just a passing desire that would fade easily when the first rays of the sun shone through the clouds. While the kiss had the same desperateness that had marred their love making, the kiss was filled with more; tenderness and a deeper understanding then before. This was Sherlock and he was fully giving himself to John.

John's body began to react to the kissing and he tried to push away. Sherlock held him close and pulled his lips away from John's. Sherlock lowered his head and brushed his mouth near John's ear. "I'm not afraid anymore, John. I want to give myself over fully- to you. Please let me." He placed gentle kisses on John's jaw and the knight stopped trying to pull away.

Whereas last time, his body had been rubbing up against Sherlock's backside, he now had Sherlock's front pressed against him. The most notable difference was that now John could feel Sherlock's erection pressing up against him. Heat gathered there and John pressed closer to it. Sherlock moved his hips and their cocks rubbed against each other. John let out a moan as Sherlock placed open mouth kisses on the underside of his jaw.

John's arms launched back to to Sherlock's hair. His fingers dug into Sherlock's curls, tugging them from their roots. His other hand tried to touch Sherlock everywhere it could; his chest, arms and back- John wanted to know every inch of the mysterious mage before him.

Sherlock pulled his mouth away from John's neck and brought his hand up to John's cheek cupping it. "I don't want to think about the future, John. For once in my life, I want to focus on the present. I don't want there to be any moment other than the one I'm living in now." Sherlock's eyes locked on John. "There shouldn't be anything...fake between us. We don't need to make plans to run away. We have no future together..."

Sherlock's fingers crushed into the side of John's face with a fierce force. "We do have _now, _John. That isn't a lie and that's what I want to live in."

John licked his lips and nodded his head. "I want to..." John swallowed and refused to let his voice waver. "I want to live in this moment with you."

Sherlock smiled and any doubt that John had about his decision faded away. John gasped and then blinked. Sherlock was bathed in a soft light, almost like the light that shone when he performed magic. "Sherlock, you're glowing."

John brought his hand up and traced along the bright outline, his fingers dancing in and out of the blue shimmer. Sherlock continued to smile but his eyes softened with sadness. "You have magic, John. It's weak, so you can't normally see the auras of others. When...When mages sometimes feel..." Sherlock paused and bit at his lower lip.

John's heart was felt like it was going to burst. There was no way it could beat so fast and without it exploding into a thousand pieces. Sherlock was telling him that he was so happy that his life force was visible for even a weak mage like him to see.

During their conversation, John had forgotten about their intimate position. John attacked Sherlock was a renewed vigor and Sherlock wrapped his arms back around John. They continued to kiss, just existing in the moment. Until John could no longer take the pressure building in his lower belly and he began to seek the friction his body desired.

John's fingers tranced along Sherlock's back. He stopped at every scar and gently pressed his fingertips on them. _I'll show him that this isn't something to be ashamed of. That this act can be out of love and not hate. _John shut his eyes tighter and hung onto Sherlock's open mouth. John moaned and Sherlock answered with his own.

Even though his legs felt like they would give out at any moment, so John used Sherlock as an anchor. John brought a hand between them and like before and wrapped his hand around their erections. Sherlock nipped at John's lower lip in encouragement.

Because their bodies were molded together it was difficult to wrap around them. So instead John used the palm of his hand to rub up and down. Realizing that the motion between them was becoming to frantic, John removed his hand and instead cupped Sherlock's ass and dragged him even closer.

The soft rain that continued to fall keep the friction from becoming uncomfortable. John thrust up harder and he knew that he couldn't hold on much longer. Sherlock was panting and his lips traced along John's ear and neck. His hand came up in the small of John's back and he whispered, "God, John."

John's movements became erratic and he groaned into Sherlock's shoulder as he came. After a few more thrusts, Sherlock followed after and orgasmed for the second time that day. John could no longer hold himself up and collapsed in Sherlock's arms.

It felt as if the whole world was spinning and John began to giggle; drunk on the euphoria that was crashing over him. Sherlock chuckled. John loved the way that Sherlock's chest moved and the sound that rumpled in his chest. John smiled wider and he was happy that Sherlock couldn't see how obviously his emotions were written all over his face.

After his legs could hold up his weight again, they wiped the come off of their bodies. Sherlock dipped down and caught John's lips in a tender kiss. John smiled again as Sherlock pulled away and this time he didn't care how ridiculous he looked.

John woke up to the sound of birds chirping. Before he opened his eyes, John was surprised to discover that his pillow was warm and moving up and down. John lazily blinked his eyes open and sighed with contentment. He had his head on Sherlock's shoulder and his left leg was thrown haphazardly over the taller man's own leg.

When John knew he couldn't put it off any longer, he lifted his head and placed a kiss on the corner of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock let out a groan and began to stir. His eyes open and Sherlock offered an unsure look. "Morning."

"Morning to you, too." John dipped down and placed another kiss on Sherlock. John knew that Sherlock had still been unsure about how he would act when the sun had finally risen and the night no longer wrapped them up in the cover of darkness. Words were not needed, so John dismissed the fear with actions.

Sherlock yawned and brought his hand up to ruffle his curls. John couldn't believe how adorable he looked. John shook his head knowing he would never tell Sherlock that. "Breakfast? For some reason I'm starving." John was pleased to see that his words caused the mage to blush lightly.

John was surprised to discover that they hadn't slept in that late. After breakfast, they made their way through the forest. It was quiet at first but after John's skimmed his fingers over Sherlock's as he passed, the mage began to act more normal.

Sherlock's deductions were still incredible in their accuracy and knowing that this amazing man had chosen him filled John with pride. John offered words of agreement as Sherlock went into excruciating detail of the migrating patterns of birds...sometimes Sherlock could be a bit much.

The stopped for lunch and John cooked the last of the meat from the deer. Sherlock found some berries and let John examine them (with only minimum dramatics) before they ate them. They drank the rain water that John had collected the night before.

John approached Sherlock and bent down to place a soft kiss on the mage's forehead. Sherlock's head shot up and gave John a questioning look. John smiled. "Because I can."

Sherlock looked confused and then a smile flitted over his face. He reaches up and placed a kiss on John's surprised mouth. Sherlock stroked John's face once before dropping his hand. "I suppose I can too."

As the days pasted, despite his efforts, John found it difficult to keep his hands and thoughts away from the mage. John tried his hardest not to imagine what would happen once they reached the warring land but it was a lost cause. Occasionally Sherlock would catch the worried look ceasing John's brows. John smiled but it was weak and it never really convinced either of them.

Sherlock finally gave his trust to the knight and no longer flinched at his touch. He flashed John small smiles and started to open up about his past. It pained John to hear it but he knew that it was also lifting up a burden from Sherlock's shoulders to share his story with a willing ear.

The weather grew colder and John knew they were only a week away from the castle. John held tightly the naked mage that was sleeping in his arms. _Oh god, what are they going to do to him? _John was amazed that Sherlock had managed to keep his mind, let alone his personality despite all the horrors he had faced.

How could he be the one to release the man he loved to people he knew were going to torture him? John's hands formed fists and rage began to build in him.

Sherlock's hand lightly touched John's chest. The knight opened his eyes to see Sherlock looking at him mournfully. "John. Stop, please. There's no point. If you don't release me to the castle, then they'll hunt us. You'll never be free, your name will be tainted. I can't live with that."

The anger began to boil over. It was all so unfair...and he was so weak, allowing it to happen. John squeezed his eyes shut. His fingernails dug into his skin until his palms were numb.

"John..."

"No!" The force behind John's voice surprised himself. Sherlock slightly jumped and began to pull away.

"No, no." John grasped for Sherlock and pressed him tighter. "Please, no. I don't mean you. I...I'm so weak and I'm so sorry. It's all in my power to stop and I just, I just..."

Sherlock kissed John. He pulled away and placed another kiss on John's cool skin. "It's not in your power. There is nothing either of us can do. Please don't blame yourself. John, I go willingly."

They kissed and made love again. John tried to block the dark thoughts from his mind but they refused to give him peace.


	10. Mission 10

A/N: Sorry I've been bad about updating. This chapter took a lot of work and I was lazy about it. Urg. I'll try and be better.

This is Sherlock's POV.

Beta: Might be hiatus. (This will be beta-ed but I was in a hurry. I beta-ed it myself so it shouldn't been too too bad.

_Sherlock said nothing of the changes he noticed taking over John. The knight no longer held his back up too tight. His hand no longer reached for the sword that was the only connect he had to his dead family. Sherlock couldn't quite understand what his observations meant, so Sherlock kept them to himself. _

_John continued to praise him and Sherlock no longer found it possible to keep the pleasant feeling that John's praises gave him small and tight in he deep recess of his mind. Sherlock had once heard praises from his teachers but never had their tones held such amazement. They had never meant what they said. John did. _

_When he had fixed the bow for John, it hadn't been skill but just an eye for the impractical. Sherlock had been pleased that John had trusted him with the tool he planned on gathering their food with. For once, Sherlock felt like he had contributed with skills that were his own. _

_Eating the mushrooms...that had been the first real mistake Sherlock had made in a long time. They had looked exactly like the ones he remembered. Sherlock cursed his inability to distinguish the difference between two mushrooms. Now he would either die or John would have to reveal his "secret". _

_Maybe it would be better if I died. Yes, that would solve it all. Sherlock knew it was selfish but he no longer cared. Maybe his subconscious had wanted him to eat the poisonous mushrooms so he would no longer be a pawn of the King or his brother. Rage surged through his veins at the word._

_I have no brother. _

_Strong, steady John had healed him. Did the knight really have any other choice? Sherlock knew it was only because he couldn't deliver a dead mage. That was the lie Sherlock knew he had to convince himself of. _

_When John had made him promise he would keep himself safe, Sherlock knew that the last of his defenses were crumbling. How was he to act above him when John kept offering more and more? While it was a promise of safety, it was also a promise to not leave John alone. To not abandon him. Sherlock wasn't sure if he had the strength to anymore. _

_All thoughts of escape left his mind._

* * *

_The rumble in the distance hadn't surprised Sherlock. He had smelt the rain in the air and the hairs on the back of his neck rose with electricity. John had found a cave after a short search and Sherlock had been grateful to get out of the rain. _

_When John had told him to remove his clothes that had not surprised the mage either. Without a word, Sherlock disrobed and huddled up to the ground. He knew the logic behind why they had to take off their clothes. It was the most basic rules to prevent hypothermia, but for once his body didn't want to listen to reason. _

_As they lay back to front, Sherlock felt John tense up. Sherlock kept his breathing even but the feel of John's naked body was doing making it difficult to think straight. Unsurprisingly, John's body had begun to react to their closeness and Sherlock restrained a groan as he felt John grow to fullness against his back. _

_Whatever words John spoke washed over Sherlock like white noise. He didn't care what the knight had to say. Sherlock only knew that he could no longer hold back his desire to have John's hands on him. He had never had to ask another man to touch him before and Sherlock found the words impossible to express. _

_So he showed him. _

_John's hands on his body had set it alight. The caresses were gentle and filled with an emotion that Sherlock didn't know he could ever feel again. As he came, there had been no thought in his mind other than how it was all going to be ripped away from him. _

_Maybe in another world, in another time they could have had it all without fear. For the first time in almost a decade, Sherlock thought of his mother. She had been the last one to hold him like he was something precious. A treasure. A sob escaped his lips. _

"_Sherlock" It had been one simple word. Just his name. But it had been so long- so long since he had heard anyone say it the way John did. Like he was a human, an individual. Sherlock was more than a mage, more than the powers that he had been "gifted" with at birth. _

_Sherlock knew he needed to tell John that he was all right. That it was all "all right" but no words could work their way though his throat. The silent pain drained him of everything. _

_John had not forced his point and Sherlock had been thankful when he heard the steady breathing of the sleeping knight. Sherlock stayed like that for many hours contemplating all that he had been and all that he would become. _

_It was the logical conclusion. There was little time, but there was time and that was what mattered. The time that did exist. The time that they could spend together. The forces waiting for him at Wulworth would never let him go- No matter how hard he wished it, John could not save him. _

_Sherlock refused to place John in harm's way. _

_John told him he would never hurt him. It was foolish to voice it. Sherlock saw everything he needed written all over John's face. It was so obvious. Sherlock had just been too blind to believe it. _

_He allowed John to take him outside the cave. It was like he had never seen the world before. There were so many possibilities and the knight in every single one of them. John would never doubt what he meant to him again. _

"_I want to believe it too, John" and with that Sherlock gave himself completely over to John, never to be whole again._

* * *

_It was sweet. John was so sweet. His kisses tasted like fire and Sherlock was consumed by them. Last time, Sherlock hadn't trusted John. Even though he knew John was a man of honor, people still made mistakes. _

_When their lips touched, Sherlock realized there was no mistake. No going back. It was him and it was John. The two of them and no one else. Even though their actions were controlled by others, in the woods the preconceived notions of what was proper melted away. _

_He clung to John like a man drowning and for the second time in his life orgasmed without guilt or fear. _

_As it had done for thousands of years, time marched forward. No matter how powerful his magic was, Sherlock could not control the laws of nature. And so they traveled and so the destination loomed closer in the distance. _

_No one had to tell Sherlock that John was a good man. It was clear to anyone who passed him a second glance. Over the coming weeks, Sherlock saw how deep John's loyalty ran. _

_At night they laid awake next to each other, biting back forbidden words._

_Words of escape. Words of a life that could be their's if only they didn't go to the castle. Go to the war. Sherlock knew though, that like the loyalty John had for him, the knight had loyalty to the crown. He had sworn an oath and no matter how hard he wanted to break it, it went against everything John had ever known. _

_Sherlock didn't hate John for his duty to the crown. It was the roles that they played. The parts they had been given to fulfill. John would depart the castle- maybe to fight in the war. _

_Sherlock would go to his death. _

_It wasn't that Sherlock doubted his ability to survive the war. It was just that he wasn't going to be fighting in it. _

_They had make a mistake giving Sherlock unlimited access to the ancient texts. The imbeciles hadn't known how little time it had taken for Sherlock to translate and read the runes. _

_He was no fool. _

_Sherlock wasn't another foot solider among the ranks of other mages. Sherlock was especially chosen. He was a sacrifice. A sacrifice that was to win the war that his brother waged. He was to be the tipping point that allowed Mycroft and Moriarty to win. _

_John would be safe. Only if the other never knew what had happened between him and the knight. That way, when they won, Mycroft and Moriarty had no need to harm John. _

_John would be safe and that was all that mattered. _

_Sherlock kissed John again. As they made love, Sherlock tried to memorize every contour of John's body. He wanted to make sure he got everything perfect, for it was going to be the last thought he had as Moriarty tore his magic and soul out of his body. _


	11. Mission 11

A/N: Whatever you think is going to happen...it's not going to be that.

...it's going to be far worse.

I promise

For what seemed the hundred time that day, the words danced on John's tongue.

_Let's just run away. _

They were only a day away from approaching the tree line to the castle. Although they would not be close to the main town, John would still need to place the restraints back on Sherlock. People would not take kindly to seeing a mage with no chains around their neck and forearms.

Sherlock gave him a small smile and John tried to chase away the negative thoughts. In the few short weeks they had known each other, Sherlock knew more about John than any other person alive. It was almost like having a family again.

...and once again that family was going to be ripped from him.

Irrationally, John hoped that he would be stationed in the war. That way he would be closer to Sherlock. Maybe they might even see each other on the battle field. John tried not think of Sherlock as a corpse.

Sherlock continued to babble on about the weather or anything else that caught his fancy. John could only reason that Sherlock was talking as much as he could before he no longer could again. It made John's blood boil.

Everything John had ever thought about mages had been shattered and he was happy that his misguided hate had been put to rest. Finally he could admit to himself what he was without fear. He was a mage, no matter how weak his magic was and knowing Sherlock had finally allowed him to accept that part of himself.

John dreaded bottling it all up again. Pretending it didn't exist like he had been. John kept his sigh inside. Even though the mage could read him like a book, John was trying his hardest not to put a damper to the last days they had together. John took Sherlock's hand and squeezed it quickly; Sherlock pretended not to notice.

* * *

Sherlock hummed with approval as John slip his tongue up the length of the mage. The fire was just beginning to die down and John should really get up to tend it but he had more important things on his mind.

"God, John. Just like that." Sherlock's hands laced through John's hair.

John continued licking and sucking until Sherlock tugged at his hair to come back up. John took his time working his way up Sherlock placing soft kisses along the way. Sherlock wiggled underneath him. John's mouth covered Sherlock and their bodies began to press into each other.

"John, wait." Sherlock's hands pushed softly on John's chest.

John placed a quick hard kiss on Sherlock before lifting his head. The mage's eyes were hazy and his cheeks were flushed. "I want you."

"Yes, I want you too." John began to dip his head down again. Sherlock applied pressure to John's chest again.

"No. You don't understand. I _want _you- inside me."

He was gorgeous like this. Hair ruffled. Cheeks a pleasant pink. Eyes unable to focus on anything. John secretly hoped that he was the only person who had ever been able to bring Sherlock to the point that it was difficult for him to think straight.

John had wanted to bugger Sherlock but he had forbid himself to introduce the topic. He was sure that the mage had never been given the opportunity to voice a choice in the matter. If they ever did do it, he had wanted Sherlock to be the one to mention it.

"God, I want that so bad." John had to control his movements so he didn't come right then.

Instead of lips, John brought his fingers to Sherlock's waiting mouth. Without a word, Sherlock took them and began to slick them down. John couldn't move his eyes away from the incredibly erotic sight.

John placed kisses on Sherlock's neck and shoulder, but careful to leave no traces. He couldn't stand that the last time they were to spend together was still dictated to the crown. It was so tempting- to brand him. But Sherlock would get angry and pull away, so John restrained and only applied little pressure with his mouth.

With a soft pop, John removed his fingers from Sherlock's mouth. John shimmed his way back down and kneeled in between Sherlock's legs. John gently placed his hands on Sherlock's legs and brought them up. The knight placed kisses on the inside of his knees.

John's slick fingers delayed no longer in finding their intended mark. Sherlock scooted closer and arched into the touch. John took his free hand and maneuvered Sherlock's leg over his shoulder.

It was amazing how easily Sherlock spread open for him. John tried to block out all the thoughts of who had done it to him. Sherlock's hand came up and sought John's. The mage interlaced them. Despite their intimate position, the small gesture made John's chest burn hotter.

John's fingers moved in deeper and Sherlock groaned into the touch. His hips began to grind down and John brought himself up to match the movement. With another thrust, John removed his fingers and centered himself before Sherlock.

John placed a firm kiss to their interlaced hands before pushing into Sherlock. Their mingled moans dissolved into frantic grunts and swears. John couldn't believe how warm and tight the mage could be.

Sherlock threw his head back and John took in the view of long expanse of pale skin in the fading firelight. _God, you're so gorgeous. _John thought the words and then realized that the mage needed to hear them. That no matter who had touched him, that it was John who truly valued him for who he was.

"God, you're so gorgeous. Sherlock, it _hurts." _John had not meant for his voice to hitch at the last word. Didn't want the shadow of something other than lust to darken Sherlock's eyes.

"There's only ever been you." Sherlock's voice was rough and he barely breathed the words out.

John thrust in deeper, burying himself in as far as he could. Sherlock stopped forming whatever words were about to pass through his lips and instead let out another moan. John brought his cock out, only to thrust back in as far as he could.

Sherlock arched his back up into the hard motion. While there had been a rhythm building up, John struggled to keep his actions from falling apart. He wanted to nothing more than lose everything he had ever known in the act of making love to Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock's hand moved to John's shoulder as the man under him pushed his leg down. John moved his body down and their chests touched. Sherlock brought his legs up and wrapped them around John's back side; his arms followed soon after.

John took in deep breaths of earth and the sweet smell of Sherlock's slick skin. The knight's mouth placed open-mouthed kisses along Sherlock's jaw, finally reaching his mouth. John swallowed Sherlock's every noise, sending his own back.

With the added closeness, John was able to slide his chest along Sherlock's cock. John felt the warm erection press into him and he moved his body to afford the mage more friction. Sherlock's fingers pressed into the skin of John's shoulders.

Sherlock broke their lips apart. "John, I can't-"

The next moment later Sherlock was writhing under him as he came. John could feel the warm come spread between them. Sherlock's muscles contracted and the warm flesh took John in even deeper. With a few more thrusts, John was screaming out Sherlock's name as he came.

John licked at the sweat gathering under Sherlock's ear. He made no move to remove his cock from out of the mage. Instead he laid unmoving, cementing every breath, every contour of Sherlock in his mind. Memorizing the way their bodies fit together.

"Thank you." John was thanking him for a million things at one time. For Sherlock allowing him into his life, for him trusting John even though he didn't deserve it-

John refused to admit there were tears in his eyes. Even when he heard Sherlock sob softly under him, John's throat was did not burn from the force of keeping back his tears. He refused to admit that there was anything other than sweat damping his skin.

* * *

John's chest constricted as he raised his hands to place the gilded collar back around Sherlock. The mage's eyes were soft and stopped John before he could snap it back together.

"John, I want you to know that these few weeks together with you has mattered more than anything to me. I'm so grateful that I met you. Don't blame yourself for this. We are duty bound to what we must do for the crown. Just know that- that, this has changed me," Sherlock's hand on John's tightened, "I love you."

Sherlock bent down to place a light kiss on John. The knights brows bunched together and his adam's apple bounced as he swallowed hard.

"Everything you said and more. You allowed me to accept a part of myself that I've always hated. I never thought that someone could mean so much to me again after I lost everyone. I'm so happy I was wrong. I love you too. Fuck, Sherlock. Those words seem so insignificant to convey what you mean to me." John licked his lips, stopping himself before he could start to ramble.

"I know." Sherlock's long hands covered John's as he clasped the collar back around his pale neck.

* * *

The sight of a castle had never made John more uncomfortable and a slow ache had started in his head. They had held hands until the tree line, but at the first sign of civilization, John had put the leash back onto his cuffs. It sickened John to lead the man he loved like an animal.

John heard the words coming out of his mouth, but it sounded like words were coming from far away. The guard lowered the gate, and they made their way inside. John could feel the stares of the peasants. Some of them made slide remarks and John's knuckles turned white as he tried to not throw any punches.

_This is the word I live in, that I was a part of only a short while ago. Do any of these people even know why they hate Sherlock? How much would they hate me if they found out their knight is really one of them? _For a fleeting moment, John imaged showing his magic to the lord of the castle and being imprisoned with Sherlock. It was a tempting thought, but he knew Sherlock would never forgive him. It was so incredibly selfish- and so enticing.

The made their way through the town to reach the inner courtyard. More words were said and another gate was opened. It all passed in a blur, all John could concentrate on was the light steps of Sherlock behind him.

They entered the main chamber. John kneeled. Sherlock remained standing. "My Lord, I bring the mage as promised."

John lifted his eyes to the sight of the Lord of Wulworth castle. He had reddish hair and a sprinkling of freckles. He was skinny and almost under fed looking. The man to his right had a hard look to his face.

John's cheeks burned when he realized the man's sharp glare was centered at Sherlock. For a moment John almost panicked. _Oh, god. What have I done? I can't leave Sherlock here with these monsters. _But what could he do? It was too late, Sherlock was in their grasp and John had lead him there.

"You will be well rewarded, knight. From what I understand, the King has offered to present you with a coat of arms. A fine reward indeed." The Lord swept his hand and suddenly guards were at both of his sides. They grabbed for Sherlock and just like that, the mage was being dragged from the room.

John watched as Sherlock was taken away; panic gripping his entire being. Sherlock turned his head for a moment and their eyes caught. A warm flash flicked over the mage's face as if to tell John _It's all right. _The knight knew it was anything but. All of the air in his lungs was sucked out his lungs and a great weight pressed down on him.

"Where are you taking him?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

The Lord frowned down at him. "That is none of your concern. You have fulfill your part. Moriarty will be taking care of him now." The man at the Lord's side gave a small bow.

John's blood ran cold.


	12. Mission 12

A month.

It had been a month since he had arrived at Wulworth castle and had handed over the man he loved like it didn't matter. But it did, and his mind and body reminded him almost every second of every day.

He had been right. The Lord of the castle, John had learned his name was Mycroft, had requested he stay and John had been more than willing. He looked daily for Sherlock in the small skirmish but he never saw any sign of the mage.

John saw other mages. They avoided all eye contact and John was dishearten seeing their eyes void of any light. It reminded him of how Sherlock used to look and the hole in John's chest only got wider. One small comfort that he took was in never lowering himself to mock and jeer at the mages. The knight no longer had the stomach for it.

Instead John kept quietly to himself and was grateful when the others ignored him. He had his own tent and would spend most of his free time sitting down and staring at nothing.

Unanswerable questions swirled in his head: Where would he go after this? What was there? _Maybe I could become a wandering knight. _It wasn't unheard of and with his crest from the King, work would come easier.

John closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

* * *

There were always rumors, nothing new. However when the word 'mage' was mixed in with those rumors, John's eyes would pick up.

The skirmish had become more frequent and many worried that a full blown war was about to take place. What caused everyone worry was that there was only a fraction of troops at the castle than there should be to properly guard it.

One of the knights lowered his voice. "Lord Mycroft has a secret weapon."

"Who? Moriarty?"

"No, his brother."

John's heartbeat started to thud in his chest and his breathing stopped. John craned his ear closer to the conversation.

"His brother? The Lord has a brother? Impossible!"

The man's voice grew even quieter, "He's a _mage._"

The others look scandalized and one of his companions called him an idiot. John wasn't sure if he could ever catch his breath again. _A mage? His brother is a mage? _

It was impossible. There was no way and yet...it all made horrid sense. Still the question gnawed at John. _Why? _

He waited until the knight was alone and John brought his chair over. He bought the man a beer and started some chit chat. John's entire body was humming with nervous energy and anticipation.

"What else do you know?"

The knight, who said his name was Lestrade, stared at John for a moment. The gray haired man narrowed his eyes and took another sip of his beer. "You seem oddly willing to believe what I said earlier."

John knew there was no use trying to hide it. "I was the knight who delivered the mage. He certainly didn't act like it was his brother."

Lestrade's mouth curled into a smile. There was no light in his eyes, no brevity to the look. "Why would the Lord want to be recognized as a mage?"

John's eyes narrowed. Lord Mycroft hadn't resembled a mage. He had been slightly pale but...

"There are all types of mage. Including ones those who provide veils. You saw Moriarty, right? I don't believe I've ever seen the two apart." Lestrade said.

John took a sip of beer to try and hid his face. Lestrade didn't need to see how much the topic excited him. "What else do you know?"

The other knight eyed John suspiciously. "You don't seem the type who likes to listen to rumors."

John shook his head. No, he wasn't. He had to know, though. Any information that dealt with Sherlock he _had_ to know. "Tell me everything."

The fire crackled as Lestrade and John sat in silence. John knew that there was something happening, something incredibly important. Finally Lestrade spoke again.

"I know someone, Mike. He's a physician in the castle. I pay him and he tells me things. Make it worth our while and I'll get you whatever you want."

John couldn't reach for his gold purse fast enough.

* * *

John shifted his feet and clenched his hands as he waited for Lestrade to arrive. It had been a week since he had handed his money over and now was the time to see if it had done him any good.

He was certain that a castle physician couldn't get the information he so desperately needed but it was impossible to quiet the anticipation that was growing in his chest and making his throat hurt. _I finally get to hear about Sherlock. _He hadn't asked for the mage by person, but hopefully Lestrade had still conveyed the proper message to Mike.

Lestrade came in, sat at their table and ordered a beer. He didn't say a word to John and the stress of it was making something twist in John's gut.

When the beer had arrived Lestrade took a long drink before finally lowering his glass. Lestrade's eyes look drawn and John suddenly didn't want to hear what he was about to be told.

"Sacrifice." Lestrade's eyes were dead as he said the word.

"What?" John wasn't sure if he said the word or his mouth only moved to form the word.

"They've been sacrificing mages. He- Moriarty, he-" Lestrade halted.

"What?" John's knuckles were taunt as fists formed. Even though he wanted to shout, drawing attention to themselves was the last thing they needed.

"That's his magic...he _eats _the magic of other mages. Mike saw it. One, one of the mages is sick and he was prepping him for the ritual." Lestrade spit out the last word.

John's mouth hung open. _He eats their magic? They were going to have Moriarty eat Sherlock's magic?!_

Lestrade's eyes grew soft. "M-my wife she was so sweet and she-. Her name was Molly. She could talk to animals. Molly was such a gently person and then they took her. I thought they were using her in the war but they must have..." Lestrade's eyes grew dark and he closed them tightly. "I've been fighting for her; to find her again- but they must have...Moriarty must have-"

John felt his stomach flinch. He was torn between throwing up and banging his hands on the table. John chose the later. Lestrade didn't even flinch; too wrapped up in thoughts of the past.

* * *

That evening a guard delivered an order from Lord Mycroft. Knight Medic John Watson was to be presented with the crest he had desired for so many years. The knight stared unblinking at the piece of paper. He had forgotten all about his crest in the mayhem following Lestrade's information. Throwing the paper into the air, John laughed like a madman.

He now had an official reason to enter the castle.


	13. Mission 13

A/N: I apologize if anyone feels like the last chapter wasn't fleshed out but it was more of a transition chapter. I know I could write more but it's not really important to where I'm taking the story and I'm busy with other fanfics, so there you go.

It was late into the evening before John risked leaving his tent. He quickly found where Lestrade was and made his way into the other man's tent. A mouth covered John's and an arm tightened around his throat.

"Who are you?" Came a tight whisper.

John smiled into the hand on his mouth. Lestrade was the perfect knight. John gasped for breath and Lestrade loosened his grip. "It's me."

Lestrade released him. "What are you doing?"

"I need your help." John rubbed at his throat.

"Leave. I'm not helping you with anything." Lestrade hissed.

"I thought you would..."

Lestrade raised a hand and John stopped short.

"I was weak- I should have never told you any of that." Lestrade's eyes were hollow in the dim light. "But its been so long since I've seen anyone else with that look."

John nodded. He knew. He had been frantic when he had asked Lestrade to find out information on Sherlock. A blind man could see how much it mattered to him. Lestrade had finally seen another man who cared deeply about a mage and Lestrade had let his defenses down.

"I need your help."

Lestrade covered his face with his hand. "Please, go. Just go."

"You don't understand." John struggled to keep his voice low. "If there was a way to save her...to save Molly, won't you have risked your life for it?"

"He is of no concern to me." Lestrade answered smiling bitterly; he saw perfectly though the analogy John was making.

"But can you let them keep doing this? If you help me, we can put a stop to it. All of it."

Lestrade huffed. "The two of us? Stop them? Stop Moriarty? Never. It's suicide."

"All right. It is but-" John's voice cracked and he took a deep breath. "I can't let him die. I just can't. I have to try. I'm sorry."

John turned to leave when a hand grabbed his shoulder. "Wait."

John stopped and waited for Lestrade to sort out his thoughts.

"Can I trust you?"

John turned around and grabbed for Lestrade's hand. John closed his eyes and prayed that he was making the right decision. He reached for the magic nestled in his chest and directed the energy to his hands. John heard Lestrade gasp as magic flowed into the surprised knight.

"You're a-" Lestrade breathed.

John nodded. "Please, trust me."

Lestrade's eyes clouded over and John knew the knight still had his reservations. Hell, John knew he certainly would if he was in Lestrade's place. But he was growing desperate and he needed someone he could count on. Even though they didn't have a deep friendship, the loss of a love one can bind two people just as intimately, sometimes even more than time can. John hoped for that now- a common cause to bind them.

Lestrade squeezed his hand once. "I'll send a message to Mike."

"Is there enough time?"

"You're not the only one with secrets, John." Lestrade smiled wearily.

* * *

The first rays of sunlight were seeping over John's tent. He had tried to sleep but instead had spent most of the night tossing and turning. It was finally happening, either he would save Sherlock or die trying. He knew he was risking Lestrade's life and Mike's too, but they had made the decision on their own. John had to believe that.

He donned his outfit and tightened his belt. Normally he wouldn't wear his sword but John hoped that with the excuse of the war going on, the guards would allow it. He let out a deep breath. There was no calming his nerves, every part of his body sang with the knowledge that he would see Sherlock again.

After eating a quick breakfast, John had his way to the castle. Lestrade and he had agreed that it was too dangerous to met again, so John could only hope that the knight was in place. _Did he contact Mike? Will Mike be even willing to help us? _So many people were being put at risk. John shook his head. It was no use to think about all the things that could go wrong.

John clinched his hand on his sword hilt. _I'll kill Moriarty and no one will have to go through this again. _

When he reached the main gate he showed the guard on duty the note and silently prayed that the man would let him pass with his sword.

"I'm sorry sir, but you're going to have to remove your weapons before you can enter the castle."

John tried to not let the disappointment show to clearly on his face. John handed it over to guard to be kept until his departure from the castle. With a start, John realized it might be the last time he ever saw his sword. His last true connection to his family. _I have family that needs me now_. John swallowed hard. At least the guard had not checked him further because he had said nothing of the dagger at his ankle.

* * *

When the door closed behind him in his waiting chamber, John released a shaky breath. "Ouch!" Looking down at his right hand, a message was being sliced into the skin of his right forearm.

_Inner most chamber. Below ground level. _

The words disappeared as soon as they had appeared. His skin healed over and only red marks remained. _Was this what Lestrade had been speaking of? Was that from Mike? He's a mage too? _

Although he had a thousand other things to think about something started to bug him. How had Lestrade and Molly been married? Why hadn't she been locked up? Mike was a physician to the mages and yet he was a mage himself? _None of this makes any sense!_

John's breathing picked up and he clutched at his chest. It had been years since he had experienced a panic attack. There was nothing he could do to stop it. His breathing got shallow and rapid. Vision blurring, everything finally became clear in his mind. All the questions he had been asking for some many years.

_Mutation. The mage's are mutating. I'm not the only one like this. _Growing up, he and everyone else in the Kingdom was raised to believe that mage's looked a certain way. He, John H. Watson, was the only exception...except he wasn't.

There were others. Others who had magical powers and didn't look like a mage should. Mages with pointless ears. Mages with no auras. Mages with dark skin. Mages who could chant even with the restraints.

The war from so long ago. They had seen it, seen the signs and it had not pleased some people. People in power. People who wanted to commit mass murder and kill all those who didn't fit the mold of what a mage should be. Because if they couldn't identify it then they couldn't control it.

There was no way to control a mage like him. People only knew he was a mage if he wanted them too and there was power in that...

That was it. The 'uprising' had been the only way they could kill all the mages who were mutated. They hadn't just killed mages, they had killed everyone. His whole village had been wiped out. John's head started to spin and he sat down. He leaned forward and hung his head down, calming his breath.

_I have to stop them. I have to kill them. Moriarty. Lord Holmes. They can't be allowed to live. They just couldn't. _

Lord Mycroft was even willing to kill his own brother to continue with the slaughter. To make sure that every mage was under the thumb of the Kingdom and that every mage that could cause a 'problem' was wiped out.

There were lines and classes and mutants in the mage line would blur it all. John lifted his head and ran his hand over his face. He was covered in a clammy sweat. John released a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

There was no way this was going to end well.

John looked a the blank shield leaning up against the wall. He could still do it. Could ignore the warnings and go to the ceremony and receive his crest. Maybe that was the best route. If he did, he could better formulate and then start an uprise of his own. Save more mages but he would have to sacrifice Sherlock.

John stared harder at his shield. He was so close, he had been dreaming of this moment for over a decade. It would finally bring honor to the Watson name; honor that he had been striving to achieve for so long. But did he want that? Was there any honor from a monarch that tortured and controlled its subjects?

No, there wasn't. No matter how hard he wanted there to be, there wasn't. There never would be. Honor to his family. Duty to the crown. What did it matter if he had to give up the one person he loved? The only person he had in the whole world. Only Sherlock been able to fill the void he had been carrying for so long.

His family would have understood. His sister would have smiled and his mother would have held his hand tight and squeezed it re-assuredly. His father would have sighed but there would have been affection in it. John's lip trembled and his vision blurred.

Yes, even if he died, even if Sherlock died...there was no other option. John no longer held back the tears and he cried silently for his lost family, something he hadn't allowed himself to do for what seemed like an eternity.

His fingers brushed along the shield and he spread his palm over it. The knight felt the cool metal under his touch and he let out a steading breath. He knew what had to be done and he would do it, no matter the consequences.

* * *

John made his way quietly down the hall. He nodded at every guard and made eye contact with every person that sought out his gaze. _I have nothing to hide. I own this place. I am confident. _

He made it to Mike's room without a hitch. He knocked once and the door opened without a word. They nodded at each other and John stepped in.

"John." Mike's face was tight.

The man was sacrificing everything and there didn't seem enough words to convey to him how much that meant to John. "Mike, I -"

Mike's entire face was tight and John stopped his words short. The man frowned at John and took a step closer.

"Know this. I'm not doing this for you. If anything, I'm doing this for Sherlock." Mick's eyes softened for a moment. "He's been through hell and you abandoned him."

John opened his mouth to defend himself. Mike's eyes grew hard again and John shut his mouth.

"I'm not doing this just for Sherlock. I'm doing this for us. For all of us. We who have to live in fear of being discovered. For friends that I have lost and for people I've had to pretend that I didn't know." Mike's voice wavered for a moment. "John, John Watson, you need to kill them or you need to die trying because if I _ever _see you again and Sherlock isn't by your side and without a collar on, I will kill you and it _will_ be painful."

"I understand." John licked his lips. "I promise you."

Mike nodded once. "And I hold you to that."

Mike turned to the robes hanging up. "Well, let's get you changed. I hope you have a fast memory because your going to need to remember all of this perfectly if you don't want to be discovered."


	14. Mission 14

A/N: It's going to get rough guys. Let's do this! I apologize for the long time between updates, I've been really busy.

John lowered his head so the hood completely shadowed his features. He made his way up to the main hall. Mike had told him the directions and had made him repeat it until he could say it flawlessly. John tried not to tighten his fists or tense his shoulders. He wanted to run as fast as his legs could carry him, it was torture to act like none of it mattered.

Even though Mike was thicker, the robes filled out so that it was difficult to see who was under all the layers of fabric. He tried to calm his frantic heart as two guards opened the doors down to a chamber and through to another long hallway. It was eerily lit, with candles lining the walls.

It was surreal; the endless flow of different color hoods surrounding him. John made his way to the left and broke apart from the others. Mike, or now he, was suppose to stand at Moriarty's right side, ready to provide any medical attention if needed. Also as fortune would have it, Mike had requested to always be present at one all the ceremonies. Moriarty had been surprisingly accompanying to the mostly unnecessary audience. _Show off._

John had asked Mike how many ceremonies he had attended. Mike had glared at him and instead of answering the question, had gone back to explaining what he was to do. John knew when to take a hint and refrained from asking any other questions. Still it chilled his bones to imagine how many men, women or even children had had their magic, their very souls, taken by Moriarty.

The small winding staircase opened up into an even larger chamber. There were at least twenty hooded figures in lines before the main stage. John could feel his heart in his throat. He bit the inside of his mouth until he could taste cooper. No matter what he did or what he saw he couldn't make any noise or make any sudden movements. John closed his eyes one final time and steeled himself for what he would see. Two chandelier hung down from the vaulted ceiling, it looked more like a cathedral than a dungeon.

Sherlock was laid out on a rock slab. His hands were in their restrains and chained to the rock. He did not have his collar on but there were fresh welts on his neck. He was dressed like a prince, in silks and a flowing robe; fit for the highest of mages. Sherlock's hair had been cut and the curls framed his face instead of trailing behind him. The mage's eyes were closed but he didn't look unconscious.

John's entire being sung with the sight. All he wanted to do was fling himself on the other man and embrace him. His fingers ached with the need to touch and reaffirm that Sherlock was indeed real. Instead, he averted his eyes so Sherlock won't recognize him. No matter his desire, he couldn't ruin it all just to catch Sherlock's gaze. John stared down at the ground and tried to concentrate on how it wouldn't be much longer. _Just a little while longer. I can hold him in my arms tonight. Just a little while more. _He had to believe it.

The room was already dead quiet when the humming started. The main chamber doors opened and Moriarty walked in. He was alone and all the hooded figures bowed as he walked pass. _Who holds the real power here? _From what John was seeing, Lord Mycroft was nothing more than a puppet and Moriarty was the puppet master.

His eyes were glistening and the smile on Moriarty's face made John's stomach twist. There was no joy in the smile, it was a cruel mouth with an even cruel intent. Centered on his goal, Moriarty paid little attention to the sea of hoods around him. His only goal was laying out chained to a cold hard rock.

Moriarty stepped up to the top of the platform stage. John bowed low and kept his mouth closed. No matter how easy it seemed to attack the murderer, John wasn't foolish enough to take the change. The element of total surprise was the only thing working in his favor.

Moriarty stood in front of Sherlock's prone form. Sherlock had never moved a muscle and John began to wonder if they had drugged him. He just couldn't believe that Sherlock would allow himself to be killed so easily. _Why doesn't he fight? _John tried to ignore the feelings of guilt. He had been the one to lead Sherlock to this. Even if he did rescue him, would Sherlock forgive him? John tried not think about it and concentrate only at the matter on hand. Rescuing Sherlock was the first priority, after that..._Focus. Focus._

Moriarty closed his eyes and brought his finger tips together. He began to mumble in a language that John didn't recognize. Slipping his fingers together, a light began to pour from Moriarty's fingertips. John watched transfixed as the ceremony had begun.

Mike had been clear about when John should attack Moriarty. There was a part in the ceremony when he was at his weakest because he was pouring all of energy into extracting Sherlock's magic. While it was true that Moriarty had the power to do it, taking magic by force was not any easy tack. Although there were many hooded figures in the church like chamber, Mike had told him that they were not a real threat...as long as Sherlock woke up and could help fight.

Lestrade would show up to help, but when and where- John had no idea. His eyes snapped back into the present, John couldn't miss any part of the ceremony. It was hard to bring his eyes away from Sherlock. John had to watch every movement that Moriarty made with his fingers. It was such a small window and there would only be one chance.

Hands grabbed at John's upper arms and he struggled against it. He tugged at his arms but quickly realized that the hands would not budge. John bit at his lip, refusing to let out a sound.

"Lift his hood."

The words were like ice running down John's spine. _God, he knows. _John felt sick. Moriarty had never been tricked for a moment. _I've been so foolish._

John refused to lower his head and looked at the mage full in the face. There was no way that he was submitting so easily.

Moriarty moved his head from side to side. "How dull."

John's gut twisted as he was reminded of Sherlock. Moriarty's eyes were just as piercing and the way he seemed to see through everyone and everything. John's desperate hope had blinded him to the fact that Moriarty was probably more powerful than Sherlock and with more magic than any other mage combined.

John's eyes narrowed and he remained silent.

"You're so predictable." Moriarty clicked his tongue. "I must admit I had been hoping for a bit more."

"If you're going to kill me, than do it." All John could hear in his head was an endless loop of apologizes to all the people he had let down, all the people he had disappointed. _Sherlock please forgive me. Please forgive me. I just wanted to be happy with you. That was all._

"Don't be obvious. I mean- I _am _going to kill you." Moriarty smiled and his eyes were hard like stone.

He spun away from John and back to Sherlock. The knight struggled against the men who had his arms trapped at his sides. There was nothing he could do, Moriarty stood in front of Sherlock and bent down to slap his hand across the mage's face.

John let out a growl. Sherlock's eyes blinked, like he was waking up from a trance or a deep sleep. Only his eyes moved and Moriarty waited until Sherlock had blinked the fogginess out of his eyes.

"Hello, sleeping beauty." Moriarty pointed a thumb at John. "I brought you a present. I do hope you like it."

Sherlock's body remained ridge but it mattered little. John could read the surprise and shock and then the horror all from Sherlock's eyes. John tried to covey to the mage how he couldn't have left him. His eyes pleading for the other man to understand, to forgive him. _I tried to fight against it so hard but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't abandon you. Not to anyone and especially not to him._ Even after all the promises he had made, John had finally realized they were nothing if it meant sacrificing Sherlock.

Sherlock's mouth moved but no sound came from him. John watched with sickening dread as Moriarty's foot ground into Sherlock's stomach. The mage let out a pained gasp and a yell of protest escaped from John.

"Leave him alone!"

"And what? Allow him to keep some of the most powerful magic in the whole Kingdom? I think not." Moriarty's voice became high pitched as he sang the last three words.

"No, no. The fairy tale is just beginning. Because we have the maiden, the knight and now the villain." His hands smacked together and he wrung them in delight. "Now is when the fun truly starts."

Light started to radiate from Moriarty's fingers again and John knew he was working up the magic needed to drain Sherlock. No matter how hard the knight fought against the men holding him, they didn't budge an inch. For not the first time in his life, John cursed the fact that his magic only had the power to heal.

Moriarty's fingertips were crimson and fire licked at his skin. Bending down, he whispered something to Sherlock before pressing his palms to the mage's chest. The howl Sherlock released was inhuman. He shrieked louder and louder until the entire chamber echoed with the sound of it.

John's eyes burned and he knew he was shouting out Sherlock's name over and over. All he could do was watch as the life of the only person who was still important to him was ripped out, as every very fiber of his being was picked apart and rearranged by the other mage. Sherlock's chest jerked up and arched higher as Moriarty's fingers curled into his silk shirt.

A black light began to gather at Sherlock's chest. It darkened to the color of midnight on a starless night and swirled around Moriarty's fingers. Black and crimson blended together and Sherlock's body fell limp.

John's legs finally gave out and with a sob he fell to his knees. It was happening, Sherlock was slipping away. _This can't be real. This can't be happening. No please god, let him live! _John's vision blurred and he fought harder but all it did was cause fingers to dig to the point of bruising into his shoulders.

There was something beautiful in the ritual. Magic pulling and pushing, joining to become one. A ball of white light floated out of Sherlock's chest and it made a focal point to all the swirling colors. Even though his own powers were weak, John could still feel the force of magic being exposed in such a brutal and unnatural way. It made him gasp, seeing and feeling the raw power.

John's fingers suddenly ached to be the one extracting Sherlock's magic out of him. His stomach heaved and John shook his head to clear it of the alien thoughts. He couldn't believe how strong the craving had been to place his own palms on Sherlock's chest and to steal the power there. That was the power of magic, no wonder Moriarty had developed a craving for it. It could become addicting, taking another mage's magic. It was horrible and all consuming.

Up until the point when Sherlock's magic exploded and a blinding light erupted out of his chest.

Moriarty let out a shocked scream as the fire that had working in harmony with him suddenly went to engulf him. He jerked his fingers away from Sherlock's chest, but the black and red swirls remained. With another yell, Moriarty tried to grasp the white ball of light into his out stretched hands. Instead the ball flashed and Moriarty covered his eyes with his hands.

The guards released John's arms as they were blinded by the flash of white light. John squeezed his own eyes shut and started to crawl in the direction of Sherlock.

"What are you doing?!" Moriarty screamed out as another pulse of magic burst from the white ball.

John gasped. His fingers hit the rock platform and he lifted his hand up to touch Sherlock's foot. He ran his hands up and when his skin touched the magic he pulled his hand back. It stung something deep inside him. Instead of stinging his skin, it was his magic that jumped in his chest.

"Get away from him! It's mine! He's mine!" Moriarty screamed. Spit flew from his mouth as he groped blindly for John.

John paid little attention the fingers clawing at his robes. The magic echoed in his ears, pleading to him. _Take us, John. We are yours. We freely give ourselves to you. Make us yours. _His own magic answered the plea and his body moved of its own accord.

Fingertips dipped into the small white ball of magic and everything in John's head was flooded out as Sherlock's magic invaded his soul.


	15. Mission 15

A/N: So, yeah. This is the present John's POV threading in with Sherlock's POV past. Sherlock's POV will all be in italicized. :D

John's entire being focused on the magic worming its way into him. Sherlock's very essence was invading his every sense. It was more intimate feeling than even sex and John had never been more aware of another person in his entire life. It reached out and grabbed on to him, refusing to let go- not that John would have wanted it too. As soon as his fingertips had brushed along the first ripples of it, he had needed it more than the air in his lungs.

"_Hello, Sherlock. I did so look forward to seeing you again." Moriarty's smile was wide. _

_In way of greeting, Sherlock spit on the floor. _

"_Now, now, now. Is that any way to behave?" Moriarty's hand pet along Sherlock's cheek before reaching out and grabbing a fist full of hair. Yanking hard on the dark curls, Sherlock was brought down to his knees. _

"_We might want to think about how we behave. We wouldn't want anything happening to that adorable knight of yours." _

_Sherlock tired not to let the fear clinching his heart show on his face. _

It was no longer just Sherlock's magic that was clinging to him. The black and red swirls of lingering magic began to meld with the pure whiteness. John watched transfixed as they twisted together and the other magic began to flow into his body.

Sherlock's voice wasn't the only sound resinating in him. There was a clatter like he had never heard before erupting into his head. A hundred voices all pleading to be heard, to be accepted. John wanted to take every single one of them.

_Sherlock closed his eyes. It mattered little, he could see nothing in his windowless dungeon. Mycroft was farther into Moriarty's web than Sherlock could have ever have imagined. Years before Sherlock had discovered what Jim Moriarty was, had tried to expose him but it had come too late. He had been too slow and people had been suffering for it ever since. _

_Clenching his teeth, Sherlock banged his fist against the wall. It wasn't just his fault. There were so many people who could have prevented all the fighting but that didn't stop Sherlock from placing the blame for the collapse of this family on himself. Mycroft had been smart but he hadn't seen Moriarty for the snake that he was; Sherlock had seen though. _

_And it hadn't mattered at all._

John's mouth gapped open as the magic soaked into his skin. His flesh was on fire as it concentrated and spread throughout his entire body. The fire moved from his outstretched hand and down into every crevice there was to be filled. John let out a gasp of ecstasy; his entire body shook with the pure intensity of it. There was so much power to be had and it was all his for the taking.

John raised up his hands, he had never felt such clarity. He closed his eyes.

_John. _

_Why did the unknown, the one factor that he would have never planned for, show up? Sherlock tried to wish him away, wished he could not care if John Watson lived or died. He had worked so hard to finally have the opportunity to destroy Moriarty. To have his revenge, to have his brother back. _

_But now there was John. _

_If he- if he went through with his plan, John would die. Now Sherlock had to make a decision. Either die or allow Moriarty to kill the only person he had ever loved and had been loved by in return. The tears keep escaping from Sherlock's closed eyes. He bit back a sob. It was all so ridiculous. How had he become a person ruled by emotion? But whenever he remembered those honest kind eyes. The first eyes who had looked at him with care, devotion in so long- it haunted his days and nights. _

"What have you done?! What had you DONE TO ME?!"

Moriarty's screams barely rang in John's ears. Every sound was muffled, the mage might have well been a hundred feet away. John finally opened his eyes. His pupils were blown wide and there wasn't a single trace of the blue that normally colored his irises.

John let out a single breath. The voices had quieted in his head only to come to clammer in his heart. John's own voice was lost in the noise. He was no longer his own soul, now a vessel to many. The countless mages who had been drained of their magic from Jim Moriarty. The hate that surged up in him surprised the knight. Standing up, he turned to the man who had once been the most powerful mage in the world.

"_One condition." The words were like acid in Sherlock's mouth._

_Moriarty shook his head. "Condition? You think that you are allowed that?" _

"_Yes." Venom dripped from the one word. _

"_Why might that be? Please do tell." Moriarty sat down and crossed his legs. The picture of quiet attentiveness._

"_You can't take my magic unless I let you." Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You need my permission." _

_Moriarty clapped slowly. "Bravo! You are a cleaver one, aren't you? But you know what I'll do if you don't...it's all rather quite _obvious, _don't you think?_

_I promise," Moriarty lifted his hand up to cover his heart. "I won't harm your precious lover if you give me what is already mine." _

"_You can never kill him. It's the one stipulation I place on my magic." _

"_Yes, yes. Will you please stop being so average now? It's all rather predictable." Moriarty waved a dismissive hand. _

_Despite the fate he had just promised himself too, Sherlock's shoulders loosened. He was giving up everything he had ever worked for and all for one person. He should have been angry, distressed, instead Sherlock was finally at peace. _

_Even if he couldn't live to see another day, John needed too. _

John stared unblinkingly at the filth clinging to his robes. Robbed of his powers and the magic he had stolen from others, Moriarty was a pathetic, sniveling worm. John brought his hand down in a violent slap. The graveling man was thrown up against the nearest wall.

John turned to look at the cold corpse of Sherlock. Because that was all it was now. He could feel the pulse of every living creature in the room and there was definitely no heartbeat coming from the mage that had once mattered more than anything to him. Moriarty would pay, he would pay with his life.

Brushing his fingers along the cooling flesh, John closed Sherlock's dull unseeing eyes before turning his attention back to Moriarty. He walked slowly, there was no need to rush.

With the hundreds of voices crowding for attention, John missed the door of the dungeon being opened.

_Sherlock's cheek still stung from Moriarty's slap. He had once again been thrown in his dark room after his negotiating with the other mage. Sherlock closed his eyes and willed for time to move faster...or too stop altogether. _

_Time did neither and instead warped into a endless cycle of nothing. With no light and no regularity to his meals, time became nonexistent to him. Sherlock clung to the last bit of sanity that came with his desire to live. That was all he wanted, to live with John. _

_Sherlock would gladly give Moriarty his magic if it didn't mean he had to die. Why did his magic and his 'self' be so intertwined with each other? His magic had once been everything, now- What did it matter? He had once thought others weak, defending their family against the inevitability of death. _

_He was so much weaker than them. _

His feet almost seemed to levitate. Thumping, radiating magic came off of John as he stood in front of the person who had took away everything he held dear. Because even though he had prevented Moriarty from taking Sherlock's magic, he had still died.

And that was all that had mattered in the first place.

So the only logically conclusion was that Moriarty was going to die- by his hand. It mattered little if he was going to enjoy it, his whole being demanded it. The voices in his head rang out in agreement. They all chanted in unison. _Kill. Kill. KILL!_

John's hands were raised above his head. _When did they gotten there? _With startling clarity, the knight realized that his body was no longer his own.

_Sherlock sat motionless as Moriarty cut his hair. His fingers brushed along his neck and Sherlock fought the urge to move away from it. He didn't want anyone else touching him. All he wanted was to remember John's touch- he didn't need this filth tainting it. _

"_There. Now isn't that lovely." Hands thread through Sherlock's short curls. _

"_Now I want you dressed and ready for the ceremony tomorrow. No running away." _

_Sherlock gave him one curt nod. _

John fought for control. He wanted to kill Moriarty, had wanted to feel his still pulse under his fingers but now with the choice taken away from him, John found himself fighting for the power to move his own limbs. His arms thrashed about, conflicted with the mixed signals.

Moriarty let out a scream and scratched at his face. "What is it so quiet? Where are the voices?! You've taken them all! Give them back!" Rage contorted his face and despite his injuries, he struggled to stand up. John stared at the wild man. _God, is that going to be me? _The power had been so tempting, now he wanted it gone. What did magic matter if it destroyed you from the inside out? John stared down at the man he could become.

_Kill. Kill. _

Tight hands wrapped around his neck, choking the life out of John.

Moriarty started to laugh like a lunatic.

_Sherlock stared at his hands. He was dressed and cleaned just as Moriarty had asked. Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he had followed orders without so much as a hint of a struggle. _

_It was for John. To struggle was to harm John and therefore Sherlock bit back his urge to rebel. He would die, John would be saved and maybe the knight would be the one to save them all instead. The knight had an iron will. Maybe he would seek revenge...Sherlock hated how it conflicted him. _

_He wanted John to kill Moriarty, to finally dismantle the web that he had not been able too. But he also wanted John to be safe and to be safe, meant being as far from Moriarty as possible. Sherlock tightened the his fists. Fingernails dug into his palms and Sherlock cursed. _

_Sentiment was such a weakness and he was about to commit the ultimate betrayal to everything he had ever worked for. And none of it mattered, none of it._

_Because John would be safe. _

Fingertips pushed in farther and John struggled to fill his lungs. He had been so caught up in his single mindedness to destroy the cowering man before him that he had left himself completely exposed to an attack.

John flung his hands backwards trying to claw at the hands strangling him. The voices in his head only focused on Moriarty and cared little that the vessel carrying them was being killed. They had only one purpose now.

John vision became even more unfocused and he began to lose his grip on consciousness. Everything was growing dark. _At least I can join Sherlock and leave this whole mess behind. _

Before his body could go lax and completely surrender to the unyielding grip, the hands pressing into his throat loosened enough that the could back out of it. "Lestrade...?" The name came out like a croak. John stared in amazement at the knight holding back the man who had just been choking him.

They struggled for dominance and ignored John as he gasped for breath. John reached out to help Lestrade but his body refused to let him even help his friend. Instead he turned back to Moriarty, to deliver the death blow that the monster deserved. Raising his hands again, John began to chant words to a spell he had never cast before.


	16. Mission 16

A/N: I do apologize for the wait in between chapters but I had a few ideas for the way I wanted to take this fanfic and I really wanted to do it right...so, I had to wait until inspiration struck. Thank you for being patient and I hope it was worth the wait. There is what the next chapters will contain: Reunion with other characters, sexy times and a epilogue.

The words flowed like an uncontrollable stream from John's mouth. Moriarty cowered and although he rose to claw at John, an invisible force keep him away from the knight. As light began to pool at his fingertips, John could feel all the magic within him struggling for dominance and release.

As the final words were muttered from John's lips, blueish light shot from his fingers and cut through Moriarty. Except Moriarty was already slumped as the energy shot through him; slicing through his body. Blood blossomed all over his clothes and it was clear that the mage was dead.

Except Moriarty had already been dead before the magic been released to kill him.

A shout broke John from his confusion and he turned around to see Lestrade holding a bloody shoulder. Now that Moriarty was dead, John was able to regain control over his body. He ran to the injured man only to realize that the man who had been attacking Lestrade had fled before John could seize him.

"Lestrade, where's the man that stabbed you?" It seemed vitally important that John captured the man who had came to Moriarty's aid.

"I don't know. He stabbed me and then ran off." Lestrade gasped as he held at the bloody patch that was spreading out.

John turned to follow the other man, when the monks, who had been unmoving since the battle, suddenly sparked to life. John reached for his knife and cut the first one down. His knife slipped through them, and John saw that it was only magic keeping the cloaks moving.

However the monks all had weapons and they attacked with complete abandon; stretching out even if it meant they were stabbed by John. They were not alive so they had no fear of death.

Now that the magic had deserted him, John struggled to fight back with only his small knife. Lestrade could barely hold his sword upright and groaned in pain every time he swung it; doing what he could to help fight.

_Let me help you. _John almost dropped his knife at the sound of Sherlock's voice in his head.

"Please! I need you!" John called out.

_Do you willingly let them go? Can you give it up? All the power that Moriarty ever had is at your disposal if you so wish it...can you abandon all the infinite potential this magic holds? _

John screamed as he rammed his knife into another monk. _Yes! Yes! Take it! I have no need for it! _

White coloured his vision and the small knife dropped as John's entire body went limp. Where the magic had been overwhelming force before, it now began to flow out of his draining John of all his power. John struggled to keep his eyes open and soon he couldn't lift up his arms. He heard a faint scream and instead of turning to it, John turned to the slab where Sherlock's lifeless body still laid. Lestrade was yelling something, John wanted to reassure him that everything would be okay but the words only swam before him; out of reach.

_Sherlock..._

John fell to his knees and then he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

John woke up to a pounding headache. He clutched at his head and turned to throw up. Instead there was only dry heaves. John's chest heaved and his throat constricted. The knight let out a low groan as he covered his mouth with his hand. Turning his head back on the pillow, John squeezed his eyes shut.

Where his head and body had been so full, there was now a strange emptiness. He had never felt so completely alone and tears rolled down John's cheeks. The pain and the over crushing loneliness overwhelmed him.

A soft hand covered John's. He wanted to open his eyes and see who it was, but the small action seemed impossible. Instead, John tried to focus on the warm, comforting human connection that was contained in the one touch. John's breathing slowed down and the loneliness started to subside.

John wanted to thank the person. To thank them for giving him a tether to reality. But just like before, John wasn't able to vocalize his thoughts. In lieu of words, John poured what healing magic he had to the stranger's hand. His skin burned hotter and it soothed him into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

John blinked, his eyes crusted over. He rubbed at his eyes and let out a deep yawn. Drowsiness finally left him and John began to feel a deep ache in every bone in his body. It hurt everywhere but at least his head didn't feel like a white hot poker was digging into it.

"How are you feeling?" The voice was barely above a whisper.

John tried to speak but only a strangled croak came out. He licked his lips and tried to swallow; it was like swallowing a rock. A cup tipped onto John's lips and he let the cool water flood his mouth. John sputtered slightly but after that he hungrily drank down all the water.

John licked his lips again. "Thank you."

A warm hand brushed over John's cheek and he hummed in approval. John swallowed again, relieved that the taste of staleness had been washed away.

"John, I was so worried about you." The voice gently said.

John's eyelids shot open. He turned his head to the right to see Sherlock sitting on a chair beside his bed. John cried out in happiness and grabbed for the hand that had been gently touching his cheek.

"Sherlock! You're alive! How?!" Tears started to pool and John let them flow down his cheeks. "God, I thought you were dead."

"I'm sorry, John. I had no choice. If there had been any other way...I never wanted you to go through that." Sherlock wiped John's tears away with the pad of his thumb.

They sat together is silence. There was a lot that needed to be said, but also a lot that needed to be conveyed without words. The tears finally stopped and John's trembling body stilled. _This isn't a dream...we're both together and alive. God, this is more than I could have ever wished for in all my life. _

"Where are we?" John broke the silence.

"The castle. My brother was being controlled by Moriarty...I can't believe I never saw it. Even I had no idea how deep his powers ran." Sherlock's voice sounded far away and he looked, unseeing, out the small window in John's room.

John reached for Sherlock's hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed Sherlock's palm. "You can't know everything, Sherlock. No once can."

Sherlock's lips tightened in a thin line. "I should have saw, should have known something was wrong. How could I ever think that my brother could betray us so? He has always been insufferable but what I accused him of- what kind of brother am I?"

"Sherlock, we've _all _been fooled." He kissed Sherlock's wrist. "Please don't berate yourself for it."

"You think too highly of me, John." He gave the knight a fond smile.

The smile pierced John's heart. He worried his lower lip. "Never. I could never hold you in high enough esteem." John took a steadying breath. "I lead you to your death. Forgive me for my foolishness, I was such a coward. Please, forgive me."

Sherlock bent and placed a kiss on John's forehead. "John, there's nothing to forgive and if there was, you have already been forgiven a thousand times over. We have both been blind."

John shook his head, his throat too tight to speak. Sherlock smoothed John's hair off his forehead and placed another kiss on his slightly warm skin.

John retraced what had happened to him before he had passed out. John gasped when he remembered the knight who had come to his aid. "Is Lestrade all right? He was stabbed."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, everyone is safe. Although we were not able to locate Sebastian Moran. He was the man who attacked Lestrade."

"Thank god. What about Moriarty?" John already knew the answer but he just wanted to hear it from Sherlock.

Sherlock's features clouded over. "John, he's a powerful mage, more powerful than anyone could have ever guessed. The way he could control, manipulate and have so many spells working at one time- there's never been one who could manipulate magic like him before."

All John could hear in Sherlock's ramblings was how he referred to the mage in the present tense. "He has to be dead. He. Is. _Dead. _I saw his motionless body...his eyes were dead-The magic ripped his body into a bloody mess."

Sherlock lowered his head and avoided John's hard look.

Comprehension dawned and John cried out. "That bastard! Oh, god. Oh my god."

"When he realized he had been found out and there was nothing else he could do, he transferred himself to Sebastian Moran. I think he harnessed the last of his magic to do it." Sherlock gently stroked John's hand. "But it is not your fault. Moriarty would have found a way to survive, no matter what."

"Does that mean everyone else has been brought back to life?" That was why Sherlock was sitting before him alive and whole. His spirit and magic had migrated back into his body when John had banished them all from his body. Maybe there could be some good out of everything that had transpired.

Sherlock shook his head, a deep sadness etched on his face. "No, Moriarty had the other bodies destroyed. With no body to return to, many of the spirits dissipated into nothingness."

"Many?"

"I do believe if a person the spirit had a strong connection to during life was near enough, then they joined the spirit of that person. I do not know if the other person had to have magic or not for it to work. The only reason I know this is because Lestrade's wife's spirit is now housed in his body."

John gasped. "He told me that his wife been fighting in the war effort. Lestrade had a suspected that something was wrong...I hope other spirits were able to find peace with a loved one too." John looked up at Sherlock. "I would have carried you everywhere if that man would have destroyed your body before I came to free you."

"I know, John. And I would have done the same for you." Sherlock bent down and pressed his lips to John's. It was the first real kiss they had shared in what seemed like a lifetime and John's body simultaneously melted and burned.

John wanted to deepen the kiss, but he was still too tired. Sherlock nibbled at John's lower lip and John groaned. He reached for Sherlock and scooted over so the mage could lay on the bed next to him. Sherlock nuzzled his cheek onto the nook of John's shoulder and neck.

"Stay with me. Now. Forever. I will never leave you again if you say you'll have me." John didn't know what he had done to deserve Sherlock in his life. John promised to himself that he would never abandon the mage again, no matter what hardships they had to face. Together they could be stronger than they ever could be alone.

"I always want to be at your side, John. Nothing will ever keep us apart again. With every fiber of my being I can feel you and love you." Sherlock's hand bunched up the material of John's shirt; clinging to the other man.

"Thank you." John's face hurt from the size of his smile. "I never want to be away from you again. I love you more than I can say."

They snuggled deeper into each other's embrace and allowed sleep to overcome them, secure in the knowledge that they would never be without the other again.


	17. Mission 17

A/N: I've posted other fanfics on my AO3 account, so if you want to check me out on there, please do! My username is the same: Pinkgloom. Also join me on tumblr on the same name :D

John smiled and recalled all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. The crest and pendants ceremony had been a grand affair and John eyes had bleared when he had been presented with the crest he had been hungering after for years.

Lord Mycroft had declared the crest displayed John H. Watson's 'courage and honor beyond all measure'. John still wasn't sure he deserved such powerful words but the way Sherlock had looked at him at stilled his insecurity. John had accepted in gratefully; the crest was of two wolves and the colors of the forest were painted all over it. It closely resembled what John could remember of his old crest but was unique enough to signify a fresh start.

Mike and Greg had also received pendants for their bravery. The country's seal had glittered on gold and both men received the honor with faces that could not hid behind an indifferent facade. All men had been near tears; not because of the pendants, but the proof that Moriarty was gone and the rightful ruler was back.

Even though there was still more conflicts to come, it was a start and it filled them with joy. It was a victory and one that hopefully would be felt all over the country. Sherlock and John would help spread that freedom as they hunted for Moran.

Greg had been asked by Lord Mycroft to replace Moriarty's place and Greg had gladly accepted. Now that mages no longer had anything to fear, they presented themselves in drones to the castle and their rightful ruler. Lord Mycroft displaying his magic had been the catalyst to everyone believing that he was serious about no longer persecuting them.

Most of the mages were coming out of hiding and the a peace treaty party had been sent to the West all while John had been unconscious. He had only been out for a few days but Lord Mycroft had worked fast, with the help of Sherlock, to put a stop to the blood shed that always been unnecessary.

There was still the threat of Moran, and so Lord Mycroft had requested that Sherlock and he track the man. John had accepted the request without any reservation. Sherlock had also agreed to hunt down the man before he could cause any more damage. Moriaty's body was still gone but his magic and lingering spirit were still a very real threat.

John idly touched the black ring around his ring finger on his right hand. Sherlock wore an identical one on his left hand on his ring finger. After he had received his crest and others their pendants, John and Sherlock had taken part in a Joining Ceremony. Their crests had been joined and the house of Holmes and Watson were bound together, never to be broken.

Sherlock's eyes had sparkled when John had slipped the finger on the other man's finger. John could think of no other person he would want to spend his life with and the Ceremony was proof that they were forever bound together. They had joined their magic and effectively their lives. John already knew the warm glow of Sherlock's magic and his body had tingled as they had held hands and shared the most important part of themselves.

It was the first Joining Ceremony that had taken place in almost twenty years in public. When mages had been on the run, their form of marriage had also been shunned. It was almost identical to a marriage ceremony for people without magic, except a Joining Ceremony allowed body and spirit to be joined in a way that could only been done when the participates had magic flowing through their veins.

Sherlock reached for John's hand and placed his hand on top of it. John couldn't believe how lucky a man could be. There were still many hurdles that had to be faced, but now he was part of a family again and he no longer had to hide his magical abilities. For the first time in his life, he was free to be himself.

"I have prepared everything for your departure tomorrow. If there is anything else you require, do not hesitate to inform either myself or one of my staff." Lord Mycroft raised his wine glass and he chinked glasses with John.

Sherlock huffed but he raised his glass to join the other two. John tried not to laugh as he took a sip of wine. It was clear that Sherlock and his older brother had a strained relationship still, but one would have to be blind not to see how much devotion would sometimes shine through in Sherlock's or Lord Mycroft's eyes. There were years worth of wounds that needed to heal, and with time they would.

Greg and Mike talked happily with each other. When Mike had first saw John at the ceremony, he had given the knight a hardy handshake and an apology for the threats. John had waved it away and pulled the man in so that he could thud the other mage on the back in a well-spirited hug.

The Feast Hall was filled with laughter for the first time in what seemed like a long eternity. Lord Mycroft had hazy memories of the years he had suffered under the control of Moriarty, however he had to rely on stories and the testimonies of the knights. It obviously weighted on him but he wasn't allowing it to damper the festive mood.

John tipped back his wine glass. Sherlock refilled the glass for him and John smirked at him. Sherlock ignored the flirtatious look with a blush and turned to talk to Greg. For what seemed like the hundredth time, Sherlock was questioning him about the magic housed in his body in the form of his wife. The knight had answered every question at first but as Sherlock got more invasive and personal, Greg started to push away.

"Has there been any changes?" Sherlock asked with his chin on his hand.

Greg pursed his lips. It was obvious he was biting back a rude remark, but Sherlock's brother was practically a king and that fact made Greg rein in his anger and answer the questions through clenched teeth. If Sherlock noticed his anger, he didn't care. John shook his head. _Always the inquisitive mind. _

"I wish you both the best of luck." John turned to Mike. Mike had a content smile on his face. He had changed so much from the drawn near frantic man John had met only a week ago.

John nodded in agreement. "Thanks, Mike. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious to go."

Mike laughed. "I'm not surprised. All that's left here is treaty negotiations and stiff social obligations. I have a feeling that's not for you or Lord Sherlock."

"We'll catch up to Moran and while I can't say he'll be brought back alive, he will never hurt another person so long as Sherlock and I can help it." John took another bit of roast. The meat was like butter in his mouth, melting as he chewed it. All to soon, the food he would be tasting would be berries and salted beef again. The banquets at the castle had fattened him up in only a couple of days and John had gladly taken seconds every time.

John chuckled under his breath at the memory of Sherlock teasing his brother for his weight gain. The things siblings argue about. A wave of melancholy washed over John as he remembered his sister and the family that would never met his new one. Raising his glass, John paid a silent toast to his lost family.

* * *

John sprawled out limply on the gigantic bed. Compared to normally sleeping outside, it was paradise. The other room he had been sleeping in before had been fine, but the chamber Lord Mycroft had prepared for Sherlock and him on their Joining night was beyond royal. The sheets felt like silk and there were more pillows then he could count.

Sherlock washed his face, took of his robes and changed into a night shirt. He walked over to John and loomed over him. "John, you need to change."

John closed his eyes. He was so exhausted and removing all the layers of clothes seemed like an impossible chore. Instead of answering Sherlock, John chose to just shake his head no.

"Now who's being difficult?" John smiled at the annoyed tone in Sherlock's man was now his for as long as he lived and nothing could have made him more happy.

Even though they were going out to fight a monster, it couldn't damper his good mood. Tonight would be his and Sherlock's and no one else's.

"I suppose you're just going to have to do it for me." John opened his eyes and gave Sherlock a cheeky grin.

Sherlock let out a huff but he started to remove John's shoes and socks. The cool air felt great against his skin and he couldn't wait to slither under the sheets with no other barriers. Sherlock crawled up over him and straddled him.

He started to undo the many clasps and buttons that made up his ceremonial robes. The material was smooth against John's skin, but he missed the power that his armor gave him. Sherlock wiggled his hips down and John let out a satisfied moan.

"I never thought I could have this." Sherlock almost whispered.

John looked up at his lover and friend through hazy eyes. "Um?"

"I was going to kill you but the more I got to know you...I just couldn't. To think that this is where everything would lead me. I never thought I could be so lucky, be so happy." Sherlock's hand gently stroked John's chest.

"I understand. To think that I Joined with another mage. It doesn't seem real." John grasped Sherlock's lingering hand and interlaced their fingers. "I'm so happy that I found you because no one else would have ever done."

Sherlock blushed a soft pink and averted his eyes. Although the other mage had been more open to sentiment, he was still was embarrassed by the emotionally thick words. John tugged at Sherlock's hand and the mage fell over him bringing their mouths close.

John closed the distance and placed a gentle kiss on cupid lips. Although Sherlock had only tensed slightly, the reassuring touch took the feeling of uneasiness away. It was foolish for Sherlock to think that John would be angry that the mage had once planned to kill him. How could John blame him? If John had been in Sherlock's position, he was sure that he would have done the same.

"Well, now we can fight together." John smoothed as he trailed kisses down Sherlock's pale neck. It still thrilled John to see Sherlock without his restraints and walking around in public. Sherlock deserved to only be admired and for the hateful looks to have been replaced with tentative interest was enough for John. Trying to undo twenty years of fear and hate was a almost insurmountable task and only time would soften it.

Sherlock let out a low growl as John scrapped his teeth along Sherlock's neck and pushed his night shirt to the side to nibble at his collar bone. If he had thought that Sherlock was delicious tasting before, he was near delirious at how good it felt to have the man he loved back in his arms. It was a night of promise and John was going to make the most of it.


End file.
